“Become a Soviet writer or die? Do not rush. If you didn’t die in the burning forests of Perm, if you didn’t freeze on the wind-swept glass ice of Lake Baikal, if you survived in endless dusty China, take everything as it should be. The time will come, motherfucker, and universal communism, like green branches, will warmly envelop the hearts of all people, our entire Northern country, our entire planet. A huge, warm, wonderful tree, alive to envy.”