NINA. How do you do?

TRIGORIN. How are you, Miss Nina? Owing to an unforeseen development of
circumstances, it seems that we are leaving here today. You and I shall
probably never see each other again, and I am sorry for it. I seldom
meet a young and pretty girl now; I can hardly remember how it feels
to be nineteen, and the young girls in my books are seldom living
characters. I should like to change places with you, if but for an hour,
to look out at the world through your eyes, and so find out what sort of
a little person you are.

NINA. And I should like to change places with you.

TRIGORIN. Why?

NINA. To find out how a famous genius feels. What is it like to be
famous? What sensations does it give you?

TRIGORIN. What sensations? I don't believe it gives any. [Thoughtfully]
Either you exaggerate my fame, or else, if it exists, all I can say is
that one simply doesn't feel fame in any way.

NINA. But when you read about yourself in the papers?

TRIGORIN. If the critics praise me, I am happy; if they condemn me, I am
out of sorts for the next two days.

NINA. This is a wonderful world. If you only knew how I envy you! Men
are born to different destinies. Some dully drag a weary, useless life
behind them, lost in the crowd, unhappy, while to one out of a million,