I'm not trying to be ridiculous or funny, but it was rather pleasant to find yourself in isolation, in solitary.

In general, with things unpleasant, the rule is: The sooner you hit bottom, the faster you surface.

Poetry is rather an approach to things, to life, than it is typographical production.

Geography blended with time equals destiny.

This is the generation whose first cry of life was the Hungarian uprising.

I'm neither Catholic not Protestant. Protestant sounds good but I don't think I am.

Twentieth-century Russian literature has produced nothing special except perhaps one novel and two stories by Andrei Platonov, who ended his days sweeping streets.