"Pnin walked slowly under the solemn pines. The sky was dying. He did not believe in an autocratic God. He did believe, dimly, in a democracy of ghosts. The souls of the dead, perhaps, formed committees, and these, in continuous session, attended to the destinies of the quick."Vladimir Nabokov, "Pnin" (1957) Why is it that … Continue reading Quarantine in Newark →