The image of a lamp with a shade is of particular importance to me, it is a very meaningful image for me. It arose from my childhood impressions — the image of my father writing at the table.

Although the bedroom lamp was shaded, Elena had an unpleasant impression as if someone had ripped off the colored silk shade and the unshaded light had struck her eyes. The expression on Elena’s face changed until it looked like the ancient face of the Virgin in the fretted silver ikon-cover. Her lips trembled, then her mouth twitched and set into folds of contempt. The sheet of gray deckleedged paper and its torn envelope lay in the pool of light.

…every evening, as soon as the filament starts glowing with the power of 50 candles, in the diffused light of the green lampshade I can write and read, in the warmth, with no worries about the fact that there is a breeze outside at 18 degrees below zero.

And at times, when in my bitter dreams I see a lampshade, keys, Faust and her (just in the last several days, I have seen her in my dreams three times. Why does she bother me?).

A frenzied electrical night blazed in Moscow. All the lights were burning, and the flats were full of lamps with the shades taken off. No one was asleep in the whole of Moscow with its population of four million, except for small children.