Man is what he reads.

My poems getting published in Russia doesn't make me feel in any fashion, to tell you the truth. I'm not trying to be coy, but it doesn't tickle my ego.

Every life has a file, if you will.

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

Every writing career starts as a personal quest for sainthood, for self-betterment. Sooner or later, and as a rule quite soon, a man discovers that his pen accomplishes a lot more than his soul.

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

I grew up in the sort of cultural milieu that always regarded conversations about the political discourse as tremendously low-brow.