The reformed addict who feels the craving almost believes in it, then merely smiles; that
The reformed addict who feels the craving almost believes in it, then merely smiles…
The shortest man, codenamed RIMSKY, said to me that freedom means understanding our place within the laws of history; we are more free when we acknowledge our submission to the law of gravity than whe...
The smoke detectors began to ring; for they were battery-powered and thus still functioned, just as a record can still be played after the death of every member of the orchestra.
The things you love too much perish—After Shostakovich and Volkov, p. 78. The composer goes on: You have to treat everything with irony, especially the things you hold dear.
The times are new, but the informers are old.
Then everything in Germany became black, white and red—the colors of the Third Reich.12 She thought of something that Professor Moholy-Nagy used to say: I don’t care to participate in this sort of opt...
There had been laid down in that place, I was told, the remains of about six million persons—our conventional total for the number of Jews who died in the Holocaust. The crime which the Nazis accompli...
There was no one as good as he at using the ovens of logic to bake agreeable results.
There was the biography of a Norwegian resistance fighter who swam through chilly oceans and got gangrene and wandered through I think it might have been Finland or Lapland in a sweet short summer and...
This book was written by a traitor to his class. It is dedicated to bigots everywhere. Ladies and gentlemen of the black shirts, I call upon you to unite, to strike with claws and kitchen pokers, to b...
This is my final book. Any subsequent productions bearing my name will have been composed by a ghost.
This is the heart of it, the scared woman who does not want to go alone to the man any longer, because when she does, when she takes of her baggy dress, displaying to him rancid breasts each almost as...
Thus the protagonist of this Dream of mine is ooze, here and forever call'd
We Communists say, if it has no practically measurable effect, it's not people's art!
We all lived for money, and that is what we died for.
We always see ourselves as constant, and others as less so, no matter what policy shifts we ourselves may have been guilty of.
We each must fulfill our own obligation.
We should have known that the only reason that Shostakovich’s nightmare restored us to ourselves was so we’d be compelled to drink the cup of anguish. It
Well let the gentlemen of the bourgeoisie remember Berlin any way they please. As Comrade Khruschev promised us, we will bury them.
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