“Who cares,′ cried Van, ‘who cares about all those stale myths, what does it matter – Jove or Jehovah, spire or cupola, mosques in Moscow, or bronzes and bonzes, and clerics, and relics, and deserts with bleached camel ribs? They are merely the dust and mirages of the communal mud.”

“Who cares,′ cried Van, ‘who cares about all those stale myths, what does it matter – Jove or Jehovah, spire or cupola, mosques in Moscow, or bronzes and bonzes, and clerics, and relics, and deserts with bleached camel ribs? They are merely the dust and mirages of the communal mud.”

— Vladimir Nabokov