Sofie

“Winter had long since come. It was freezing cold. Torn-up sounds and forms appeared with no evident connection from the frosty mist, stood, moved, vanished. Not the sun we are accustomed to on earth, but the crimson ball of some other substitute sun hung in the forest. From it, strainedly and slowly, as in a dream or a fairy tale, rays of amber yellow light, thick as honey, spread and on their way congealed in the air and froze to the trees.”
― Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

“No artist has painted
A true portrait of Lenin
Ages to come will complete
Lenin's unfinished portrait.

Did Poletaev understand the tragic implication of his lines about Lenin?”
― Vasily Grossman, Forever Flowing

“There was bread enough for us in the army, on the front line. We were fed by the Russian people. And no one had to teach them how to do it.” “You’re right there,” said the economist. “What matters is that we’re Russians. Yes, Russians—that’s quite something.” The inspector smiled and winked at his companion. It was as if he were saying those well-known words: “The Russian is the elder brother, the first among equals.”
― Vasily Grossman, Everything Flows

“Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.”
― James Joyce, Dubliners