Anton Pavlovich Chekhov. Uncle Vanya (№ 256011)

Day and night, like home, strangling me the idea that my life is lost forever. Past is not, it is silly spent for nothing, and now horrible in its absurdity. And that's my life and my love: where would I put them, what do I do with them? My feeling is dying in vain, like a ray of sunshine caught in a hole and I die.