IVANOV: Listen, my poor man. I won’t try and explain myself–whether I’m decent or rotten, sane or mad. You wouldn’t understand. I used to be young, eager, sincere, intelligent. I loved, hated and believed differently from other people, I worked hard enough–I had hope enough–for ten men. I tilted at windmills and banged my head against brick walls. Without measuring my own strength, taking thought or knowing anything about life, I heaved a load on my back which promptly tore the muscles and cracked my spine. I was in a hurry to expand all my youthful energy, drank too much, got over-excited, worked, never did things by halves. But tell me, what else could you expect? We’re so few, after all, and there’s such a lot to be done, God knows. And now look how cruelly life, the life I challenged, is taking its revenge. I broke under the strain. I woke up to myself at the age of thirty, I’m like an old man in his dressing-gown and slippers. Heavy-headed, dull-witted, worn out, broken, shattered, without faith or love, with no aim in life, I moon around, more dead than alive, and don’t know who I am, what I’m living for or what I want. Love’s a fraud, or so I think, and any show of affection’s just sloppy sentimentality, there’s no point in working, songs and fiery speeches are cheap and stale. Wherever I go I carry misery, indifference, boredom, discontent and disgust with life. I’m absolutely done for. You see a man exhausted at the age of thirty-five, disillusioned, crushed by his own pathetic efforts, bitterly ashamed of himself, sneering at his own feebleness. how my pride rebels, I’m choking with fury. [Staggering] God, I’m on my last legs–I’m so weak I can hardly stand. Where’s Matthew? I want him to take me home.
- String of Pearls
- 5 Comedic Animal Monologues