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

There's nothing as dear as the sight of ruins.

Cherish your human connections: your relationships with friends and family. Even your super weirdo creep cousin.

Persecution mania is still around. In your writing, in your exchanges with people, meeting people who are in Russian affairs, Russian literature, etcetera.

I'm a bad Jew, a bad Russian, a bad everything.

I don't have principles. I have nerves.

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