Wednesday, April 13, 2016


I never cared for love stories much. All that mushy stuff was not for me! But for Kira I made an exception. Kira and Leo and Andrei. When all my friends were reading 'The Fountainhead' and oohing and aahing about Howard Roark and the famous last speech, my favourite people were in another Ayn Rand book, "We the Living" (which, incidentally, was her debut novel). It's one of those books on my bedside table. One I pick up again and again now and then and lose myself in a harsh and beautiful post-revolutionary Russia.

“It's strange. There's your life. You begin it, feeling that it's something so precious and rare, so beautiful that it's like a sacred treasure. Now it's over, and it doesn't make any difference to anyone, and it isn't that they are indifferent, it's just that they don't know, they don't know what it means, that treasure of mine, and there's something about it that they should understand. I don't understand it myself, but there's something that should be understood by all of us. Only what is it? What?” 
― Ayn RandWe the Living

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