All my life I had lived on the presumption that there was no existence beyond. . . flesh, the moment of being alive. . . then nothing. I had searched in superstition. . . But there was nothing. Then I heard the sound of my own life leaving me. It was so. . . tender. I regretted that I had paid it no attention. Then I believed in the wisdom of what other men had found before me. . . I saw that those simple things might be true. . . I never wanted to believe in them because it was better to fight my own battle. You can believe in something without compromising the burden of your own existence.
As a storyteller I was influenced by the Moscow underground, where it was common to be apolitical.