‚What is this novel about?‘

‚It is a novel about Pontius Pilate.‘

Here again the tongues of the candles swayed and leaped, the dishes on the table clattered, Woland burst into thunderous laughter, but neither frightened nor surprised anyone. Behemoth applauded for some reason.

‚About what? About what? About whom?‘ said Woland, ceasing to laugh. ‚And that — now? It’s stupendous! Couldn’t you have found some other subject? Let me see it.‘ Woland held out his hand, palm up.

‚Unfortunately, I cannot do that,‘ replied the master, ‚because I burned it in the stove.‘

‚Forgive me, but I don’t believe you,‘ Woland replied, ‚that cannot be: manuscripts don’t burn.‘

—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, (Penguin Books, Ltd., 1997), 286-287.

It’s taken years, but I finally read the line.