"Darling, no one will say these nice things to her lover in your New Democracy," said Mark. "Everyone will be so busy with work, self-criticism and dialectics."
"Politics don't stop love. He will say to her: 'You are as beautiful as our new hydroelectric plant.' And she will reply: 'Comrade, how progressive of you.'"
* * *
To go on living one has to be occasionally silly; to cherish memories which in more detached moments exhale a pungent odor of embalming fluid; to finger old letters which the silver worm punches, to distort in the trappings of sentiment the ardors of love; to magnify into a saying the light, mocking word.
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