“The forbidden cabinet. The forbidden fruit. That fruit is—a volume, a huge blue-lilac volume with a gold inscription slantwise: Collected Works of A.S. Pushkin. I read the fat Pushkin in the cabinet with my nose in the book and on the shelf, almost in darkness and almost right up against it and even a little bit suffocated by his weight that came right into the throat, and almost blinded by the nearness of the tiny letters. I read Pushkin right into the chest and right into the brain.”

“There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?”

“Wings are freedom only when they are wide open in flight. On one's back they are a heavy weight.”

“What is this gypsy passion for separation, thisreadiness to rush off when we've just met?My head rests in my hands as Irealize, looking into the nightthat no one turning over our letters hasyet understood how completely andhow deeply faithless we are, which isto say: how true we are to ourselves.”

“Tonight - I am alone in the night,a homeless and sleepless nun!Tonight I hold all the keys to thisthe only capital cityand lack of sleep guides me on my path.You are so lovely, my dusky Kremlin!Tonight I put my lips to the breastof the whole round and warring earth.Now I feel hair - like fur - standing on end:the stifling winds blow straight into my soul.Tonight I feel compassion for everyone,those who are pitied, along with those who are kissed.”

“I opened my veins. Unstoppablylife spurts out with no remedy.Now I set out bowls and plates.Every bowl will be shallow.Every plate will be small.And overflowing their rims,into the black earth, to nourishthe rushes unstoppablywithout cure, gushespoetry ...”

“No one has ever stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book?”