If You Read Only One

We're People Of The Orient. We Know Everything. And What We Don't Know, We Can Sense.

It Is A Capital Insult In This Country Not To Make Love To A Naked Woman, Even If She Is Related To You.

That's What Tyrants Do, I Guess. They Make You Covet Their Attention; They Make You Confuse Attention For Mercy.

On That Night I Was Left With Only The Truth That Nothing Of Our Personality Survives After Death, That In The End All That Was Misha Vainberg Would Evaporate Along With The Styles And Delusions Of His Epoch, Leaving Behind Not One Flutter Of His Sad Heavy Brilliance, Not One Damp Spot Around Which His Successors Could Congregate To Appreciate His Life And Times.

I Just Want Fiction To Remain A Vital Force For Entertainment And Not Just For Contemplation. Both Things Can Exist.