From the Lady with the Little Dog

The leaves of the trees did not stir, cicadas called, and the monotonous, dull noise of the sea coming from below spoke of the peace, of the eternal sleep that awaits us. So it had sounded below when neither Yalta nor Oreanda were there, so it sounded now and would go on sounding with the same dull indifference when we are no longer here. And in this constancy, in this utter indifference to the life and death of each of us, there perhaps lies the pledge of our eternal salvation, the unceasing perfection.

Some man came up – it must have been a watchman – looked at the couple, and went away. And this detail seemed such a mysterious thing, and also beautiful. The steamer from Feodosia could be seen approaching in the glow of the early dawn, its lights out.

– Anton Chekov