"It is history's sorrow, the grief of our era, that lie about me like an anathema." Alexander I. Solzhenitsyn 1918 - 2008. Sent via BlackBerry by AT
I read the Gulag Archipelago years ago, through the course of a long winter weekend. I sat or laid on a big leather couch in the living room, warmed by a wood stove, snacking and drinking coffee. I read myself to sleep three nights in a row. I read myself awake three days in a row. I lived on coffee, sandwiches, and cigarettes. I was a different man then and the miles between here and there were alternately dark and light. But I remember that weekend well.
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