Book: The Tropic Of Capricorn

I aimlessly delirium in search of durable, reliable position where I could observe my life, but behind only a confusion of intersecting trails, tangled, confused, like the footprints of a chicken that just got beheaded.

In a room with mirrored walls it's impossible to turn his back.

This street can not be called the street of grief, because sorrow, as a rule, humane and recognizable, no, that street is pure emptiness - it's even more empty than absolutely extinct volcano, emptier than a vacuum, emptier than the word God on the lips of the infidel.

Night streets of new York reflect the crucifixion and death of Christ. When they are covered with snow and the perfect stillness reigns, the ugliest buildings in new York carried the music of the black despair and failure that she feel shaky. Here no stone is laid by love or reverence, no street was laid for dance and fun.

"Confusion" is the word we invented to refer to us UN-understandable order.

This is the result of excessively enthusiastic, passionate desire to embrace humanity and to show how much you love him. And the world, the more it will stretch, the farther backs away from you. True love, true hatred is useless. No one wants your hand digging in the Holy viscera is allowed only to the priests during sacrifices. While you're alive and in you flows the warm blood, you have to pretend not under your flesh nor blood nor bone. On the grass not to go! the motto of mankind.

People in poverty everywhere - it always has been and always will be. And beneath the terrible poverty quietly burns the fire, normally invisible, imperceptible. But he breaks out, and if anyone would get the courage to blow it - it can become a large fire.

With unnerving certainty you realize that the main thing in life is not money, not politics, not religion, not education, not race, not language, not customs, but something else, and no matter how hard you try to suffocate is something, in fact it's choking you, otherwise you wouldn't be so intimidated and did not think about where to shelter.

... what is easier for the body, not always just for fun.

There are times when one must break with the friends to understand the meaning of friendship.

... he was alone and loneliness was freedom.

Almost everything we call life is nothing more than insomnia, agony, for we have lost the habit of going to bed. We have forgotten how to disconnect, I have forgotten how to let it go. We as poprygushki on a spring - the more you rush, the harder it is get back in the box.

The whole system to such a degree rotten, was so inhumane and vile, irredeemably flawed and complicated that you have to be a genius to somehow organize, not to mention humanity or warmth.

If you're willing to laugh along with everyone and cry with everyone, you should be ready to die as they had to live like them. That is, to die alive, and heal only after his death.