Dorn. Why, yes; he might go as well as not.
Arkadina. You don’t understand.
Dorn. There is nothing to understand in this case; it is quite clear.
Medviedenko. He ought to give up smoking.
Sorin. What nonsense!
Dorn. No, that is not nonsense. Wine and tobacco destroy the individuality. After a cigar or a glass of vodka you are no longer Peter Sorin, but Peter Sorin plus somebody else. Your ego breaks in two: you begin to think of yourself in the third person.
Sorin. It is easy for you to condemn smoking and drinking; you have known what life is, but what about me? I have served in the Department of Justice for twenty-eight years, but I have never lived, I have never had any experiences. You are satiated with life, and that is why you have an inclination for philosophy, but I want to live, and that is why I drink my wine for dinner and smoke cigars, and all.
Dorn. One must take life seriously, and to take a cure at sixty-five and regret that one did not have more pleasure in youth is, forgive my saying so, trifling.
Masha. It must be lunch-time. [She walks away languidly, with a dragging step] My foot has gone to sleep.
Dorn. She is going to have a couple of drinks before lunch.
Sorin. The poor soul is unhappy.
Dorn. That is a trifle, your honour.
Sorin. You judge her like a man who has obtained all he wants in life.
Arkadina. Oh, what could be duller than this dear tedium of the country? The air is hot and still, nobody does anything but sit and philosophise about life. It is pleasant, my friends, to sit and listen to you here, but I had rather a thou-
