One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

There are two ends to a stick, and there’s more than one way of working. If it’s for human beings—make sure and do it properly. If it’s for the big man—just make it look good.

Apart from sleep, an old lag can call his life his own only for ten minutes at breakfast time, five at lunchtime, and five more at suppertime.

Work, he reckoned, was the best medicine of all. Work is what horses die of. Everybody should know that.

Can a man who’s warm understand one who’s freezing?

Pavlo raised his head. “Didn’t land in the hole, then, Ivan Denisovich? Still among the living?” (Western Ukrainians never learn. Even in the camps they speak to people politely.)

food swallowed in a hurry is food wasted, you feel no fuller and it does nothing for you.

(A bit like political agitators, these Baptists. Loved spreading the word.)

It was hard starting a day’s work in such cold, but that was all you had to do, make a start, and the rest was easy.

“It’s sure to be twelve,” Shukhov announced. “The sun’s over the top already.” “If it is,” the captain retorted, “it’s one o’clock, not twelve.” “How do you make that out?” Shukhov asked in surprise. “The old folk say the sun is highest at dinnertime.” “Maybe it was in their day!” the captain snapped back. “Since then it’s been decreed that the sun is highest at one o’clock.” “Who decreed that?” “The Soviet government.” The captain took off with the handbarrow, but Shukhov wasn’t going to argue anyway. As if the sun would obey their decrees!

If you can do two things with your hands, you’ll soon pick up another ten.

Never says no, that Alyoshka, whatever you ask him to do. If everybody in the world was like him, I’d be the same. Help anybody who asked me. Why not? They’ve got the right idea, that lot.

Some people with nothing better to do run races in stadiums of their own free will. Silly devils should try running for their lives, bent double after a day’s work.

Who is the convict’s worst enemy? Another convict. If zeks didn’t squabble among themselves, the bosses would have no power over them.

The belly is an ungrateful wretch, it never remembers past favors, it always wants more tomorrow.