Manuscripts Don't Burn.

Obedient To Constraint, I Was Compelled To Submit

The Tongue Can Conceal The Truth, But The Eyes Never! You're Asked An Unexpected Question, You Don't Even Flinch, It Takes Just A Second To Get Yourself Under Control, You Know Just What You Have To Say To Hide The Truth, And You Speak Very Convincingly, And Nothing In Your Face Twitches To Give You Away. But The Truth, Alas, Has Been Disturbed By The Question, And It Rises Up From The Depths Of Your Soul To Flicker In Your Eyes And All Is Lost.

The Cat, Covered In Dust And Standing On Its Hind Legs, Bowed To Margarita. Round Its Neck It Was Now Wearing A Made-up White Bow Tie On An Elastic Band, With A Pair Of Ladies’ Mother-of-pearl Binoculars Hanging On A Cord. It Had Also Gilded Its Whiskers.

You Are Not Dostoevsky,' Said The Woman... 'you Never Can Tell...' He Answered. 'dostoevsky Is Dead,' The Woman Said, A Bit Uncertainly. 'i Protest!' He Said With Heat, 'dostoevsky Is Immortal!

Manuscripts Don't Burn.