Je haïs ces brigands! said an aristocrat named M-ski one day in Omsk as he strode past Dostoevski with flashing eyes. Dostoevski went in and lay down, hands behind his head.
“Remember when you used to watch TV in the Sixties and you’d see Perry Como in a cashmere sweater? That’s what rock ‘n’ roll is becoming. It’s your parents’ music.”