Book: Just a short moment on earth, we are all beautiful

We are what is visible in the light. Is not it so?

...Sometimes freedom is only the degree of your lack of freedom, a cage that stretches far, far away; the grille is not visible from a distance, but it is there. When an animal is released from a zoo into a reserve, it remains in captivity, the boundaries just become wider. But I still accepted this condition. Because sometimes it’s enough just not to see boundaries.

I know you asked what it means to be a writer, and I’m writing you some nonsense. But that’s just nonsense, Ma—I’m not embellishing anything. I'm belittling. This is what writing is, after all, about: you stoop so low that the world offers a new merciful perspective, a panorama of little things; the lint suddenly turns into a sheet of fog the size of your eyeball.

I looked up, a handful of blue and white stars were shining in the sky. I wonder why the night is called dark?

…We try so hard to maintain joy that we lose it.

...Some little things change everything.

They say that all snowflakes are different, but the storm covers us all the same.

Note: the fact that we are alive is wonderful in itself and worthy of repetition. What's next? What if my greatest achievement in life is multiplying life?

We multiply what we find aesthetically pleasing: a vase, a painting, a bowl, a poem. We recreate an object in order to preserve it, to prolong its existence in time and space. Admiring what you like - a fresco, a snow cap glowing at sunset on a mountain top, a boy with a mole on his cheek - means recreating this image, continuing it in your gaze, multiplying it, prolonging it.

When we look in the mirror, we are not just looking for beauty, no matter how elusive it may be. We want to make sure we exist. That our body, which is being hunted, is not destroyed, not gutted. Seeing yourself as yourself is salvation. Those who have never been refused will hardly understand.

You always pay for your confession by listening to a response confession.

She is waiting. Because that's what all mothers do. Are waiting. They don't interfere while their children belong to someone else.

There is only one life, and there are no second chances. We believed this lie. That's how everyone lives.

Mom, they say a song can become a bridge. In my opinion, the song is also the ground on which we stand. Maybe we sang to keep from falling. Maybe we sang to preserve ourselves.