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Mark Zhang
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"@Seamus when you see this just know that I am also pledging my fealty to the American novelist
Tbh this reads less like a memoir of a great American novelist than an ordinary guy trying to find greatness in America. Maine in the 60s was endearing but I have a sense that much of this story will be negative - if not filled with hope for better like all Steinbecks" — Sep 09, 2025 07:47AM
"@Seamus when you see this just know that I am also pledging my fealty to the American novelist
Tbh this reads less like a memoir of a great American novelist than an ordinary guy trying to find greatness in America. Maine in the 60s was endearing but I have a sense that much of this story will be negative - if not filled with hope for better like all Steinbecks" — Sep 09, 2025 07:47AM


“It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants.”
― Letters to Vera
― Letters to Vera

“Mishka would pine for Katerina the rest of his life! Never again would he walk Nevsky Prospekt, however they chose to rename it, without feeling an unbearable sense of loss. And that is just how it should be. That sense of loss is exactly what we must anticipate, prepare for, and cherish to the last of our days; for it is only our heartbreak that finally refutes all that is ephemeral in love.”
― A Gentleman in Moscow
― A Gentleman in Moscow

“Give me a daughter with your stubborn heart, or your even temper. Give our children your dark-bright eyes, or your enchanted smile. So that even when we are gone, the world will find within them all of the reasons why I loved you”
―
―

“The melancholy of the antique world seems to me more profound than that of the moderns, all of whom more or less imply that beyond the dark void lies immortality. But for the ancients that ‘black hole’ is infinity itself; their dreams loom and vanish against a background of immutable ebony. No crying out, no convulsions—nothing but the fixity of the pensive gaze.
With the gods gone, and Christ not yet come, there was a unique moment, from Cicero to Marcus Aurelius, when man stood alone. Nowhere else do I find that particular grandeur.”
―
With the gods gone, and Christ not yet come, there was a unique moment, from Cicero to Marcus Aurelius, when man stood alone. Nowhere else do I find that particular grandeur.”
―

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