Defined by my pace on the map, I'm advancing
On tiles and my options are lined up opposing
My quest for the finish. I'm destined for something
Terrific: promotion; where origins matter
Far less than the power obtained. As a monarch,
My freedom to move by my whim on the chessboard
Is limited only by king and by checkmate
That comes with a flourish. And somewhere transcending
This board I'll recover my status—exceed it
Perhaps as a king on my chessboard. I'll gather
My forces together and crush my opponents
Forever in cycles of rebirth, ascending
The ranks to the top as the king of creation.
“With the exception of the redheaded Anna Chapman, who will doubtless soon be offered a talk show and a column on a British tabloid, they do look like a dull lot compared to their Soviet forerunners - who were very good indeed at their jobs. But they have all been offered a Moscow flat and a $2,000 (£1,327) state pension - the sort of riches plenty of Muscovites can still only dream of... But although the spies will not be paupers, their lives may not be easy.”
– Alexander Anichkin, BBC, 19:07 GMT, Friday, 9 July 2010 20:07 UK
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/europe/10581574.stm
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