Jail is where you promise yourself the right to live.

The kulaks were contagious. Their souls were contagious. They carried the spores of counter-revolution.

Along the Chilean coast, with cold and winter, when rain falls washing the weeks. Listen: solitude becomes music once more, and it seems its appearance is that of air, of rain, that time, something with wave and wings, passes by, grows. And the harp awakes from oblivion.

Behind mundane disagreement he saw not legitimate opinion but malevolent forces.

Written By Stephen Kotkin

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