Sakharov died. I went to pay my respects. A hundred thousand people gathered at his funeral…Everybody was weeping, and I wept, too. The other day, I read about him in the paper, “a great Russian holy fool died,” and I thought to myself that he probably died just in time. Solzhenitsyn came back from America, and everyone fell at his feet. But he didn’t understand us, and we didn’t understand him. He was a foreigner. He’d returned to Russia but found Chicago in its place…
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