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"Do you know," Ivan Bunin recalls Anton Chekhov saying to him in 1899, near the end of his too-short life, "for how many years I shall be read? Seven." "Why seven?" Bunin asked. "Well," Chekhov answered, "seven and a half then."
Anton Chekhov
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Interpretation

What this quote means

Chekhov reflects on the fleeting nature of life and legacy, suggesting that he will only be read for a limited time.

This quote encapsulates Anton Chekhov's awareness of mortality and the transient nature of fame and influence. He humorously estimates that his work will have a brief shelf-life of seven years, hinting at the inevitability of being forgotten as time passes. Chekhov's exchange with Bunin reveals a philosophical perspective on how we perceive our contributions to the world, underscoring the importance of appreciating both life and art in the moment, rather than fixating on permanence.

Themes

LifeLegacyFameMortalityArt

In practice

Example use cases

During a literary discussion on the nature of art and its impact over time.

More from Anton Chekhov

If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there.
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There are still many more days of failure ahead, whole seasons of failure, things will go terribly wrong, you will have huge disappointments , but you have to prepare for that, you have to expect it and be resolute and follow your own path.
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Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out.
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To a chemist, nothing on earth is unclean. A writer must be as objective as a chemist; he must abandon the subjective line; he must know that dungheaps play a very respectable part in a landscape, and that evil passions are as inherent in life as good ones.
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When you want to touch the reader's heart, try to be colder. It gives their grief as it were, a background, against which it stands out in greater relief.
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Why are we worn out? Why do we, who start out so passionate, brave, noble, believing, become totally bankrupt by the age of thirty or thirty-five? Why is it that one is extinguished by consumption, another puts a bullet in his head, a third seeks oblivion in vodka, cards, a fourth, in order to stifle fear and anguish, cynically tramples underfoot the portrait of his pure, beautiful youth? Why is it that, once fallen, we do not try to rise, and, having lost one thing, we do not seek another? Why?
Anton ChekhovRead

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