rings abominably false.

NINA. You work too hard to realise the importance of your writings. What
if you are discontented with yourself? To others you appear a great and
splendid man. If I were a writer like you I should devote my whole life
to the service of the Russian people, knowing at the same time that
their welfare depended on their power to rise to the heights I had
attained, and the people should send me before them in a chariot of
triumph.

TRIGORIN. In a chariot? Do you think I am Agamemnon? [They both smile.]

NINA. For the bliss of being a writer or an actress I could endure want,
and disillusionment, and the hatred of my friends, and the pangs of my
own dissatisfaction with myself; but I should demand in return fame,
real, resounding fame! [She covers her face with her hands] Whew! My
head reels!

THE VOICE OF ARKADINA. [From inside the house] Boris! Boris!

TRIGORIN. She is calling me, probably to come and pack, but I don't want
to leave this place. [His eyes rest on the lake] What a blessing such
beauty is!

NINA. Do you see that house there, on the far shore?

TRIGORIN. Yes.

NINA. That was my dead mother's home. I was born there, and have lived
all my life beside this lake. I know every little island in it.