Monday, January 17, 2011

So he let his own water run

Today is the birthday of Anton Chekhov (born 1860), the Russian dramatist and short-story artist.

"And the whole world, the whole of life, seemed to Ryaobavich an aimless, unintelligible jest...The water was running, he knew not where or why...It had flowed into a great river, from the great river into the sea; then it had risen in vapor, turned into rain, and perhaps the very same water was running now before his eyes again...And why? For what purpose? -- "The Kiss."

   What had God hoped for, creating the universe? What was His goal? It had to have been a whim, Sully thought, a caprice, and given that, how could you take it seriously? How could you take yourself seriously? If God didn’t have a clue.  --  Chapter 21, The Misforgotten.

No comments:

Post a Comment