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“All his memories of her were like that: They had come back together by streetcar from the apartment where they first made love. (Mirek noted with distinct satisfaction that he had completely forgotten their coitions, that he was unable to recall even a single moment of them.) More robust, taller than he (he was small and frail), she sat on a corner bench in the jolting streetcar, her face sullen, closed, surprisingly old. When he asked her why she was so silent, she told him she had not been satisfied with their lovemaking. She said he had made love to her like an intellectual. In the political jargon of those days, the word “intellectual” was an insult. It indicated someone who did not understand life and was cut off from the people.” — Milan Kundera