What's happening in Russia is devoid of autobiographical interest for me. Maybe it's egocentric. Whatever it is, feel free to use it.

What I like about cities is that everything is king size, the beauty and the ugliness.

If they had wanted to punish me, they should have kept me in a communal apartment. Then I would have become a wreck.

Every individual ought to know at least one poet from cover to cover: if not as a guide through the world, then as a yardstick for the language.

There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them.

The delirium and horror of the East. The dusty catastrophe of Asia. Green only on the banner of the Prophet. Nothing grows here except mustaches.

How delightful to find a friend in everyone.