Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, The Black Monk, and Other Stories
“ At home in Simbirsk government there were no such stars and no such heaven."Misery, misery!" he repeated."You'll get used to it," said Wiseacre, grinning. "You're young and foolish now—your mother's milk is still wet on your lips, only youth and folly could make you imagine there's no one more miserable than you. But the time'll come when you'll say, 'God grant every one such a life as this!' Look at me, for instance. In a week's time the water will have fallen, we'll launch the small boat, you'll be off to Siberia to amuse yourselves, and I'll remain here and row from one side to another. ”
