During the night he went through his vast store of memories. He remembered the hundreds of people who had passed through his life. He remembered pupils and teachers, friends and enemies. He remembered books and student discussions; he remembered the cruel, unhappy love he had lived through sixty years before and which had cast a cold shadow over his whole life. He remembered years of wandering and years of labor. He remembered his spiritual vacillations—from a passionate, frenzied religiosity to a cold, clear atheism. He remembered heated, fanatical arguments in which no one would yield.
–Vasily Grossman, The Road: Stories, Journalism, and Essays
