Book: Maur, the disciple of Death

People are no more able to change the course of history, than the birds in the sky. All they can do is to seize the moment and insert a small pattern.

There is no justice. There is only I.

Immersed in the alcohol bath brain stubbornly vyalceva alarms.

It sharpened unpleasant, uneasy feeling - like he's about to remember something that has not happened.

History has a habit of changing people who imagine that they changed it.

- ... Learning to walk through walls, I can do anything at all.
Very deep thought, - agreed Coverx. - I would even say philosophical. And the name of the young lady on the other side of the wall?..

- And you can learn to walk through walls? <...>
- With magic?
- No, - said Mor, - just like that. Is this possible?
- Well, then you have to choose very thin walls - advised Covers. - Better yet, use the door. That just fit, if you were to take away my precious time.

He's Death, FYI. The Grim Reaper. Important. He's not someone who become. He's the one who you are.

- When there is the sunset?
Usually we manage to stick it between day and night.

- Know what happens to boys who ask too many questions?
Mor thought for a moment.
"No," in the end, he said. What?
There was a silence.
- Thunder strike me if I know, - albert said, straightening up. - Probably they get answers, and then use them for their own benefit.

There must exist a word for the microscopic spark of hope that you cherish the fear, afraid to startle one recognition of the fact of its existence. It would be like to look at the photon. You can only sideways, sideways to get close to her, looking past her, passing by her and wait until she will be big enough boldly to face the world.

But you're Death! exclaimed Moore. - You do that go and kill people!
- I? Kill? - said Death, obviously offended to the core. Yes, as you could a notion in his head? Kill people, but it is their own business, I here at anything. I joined the game after this event is done. My duty is to deal with the man since the murder and on. In the end, don't you think that a world in which people kill and then die, deserves the title a hell of a stupid world?

Here revolved solely the cream of the crop, in any case, those components which float to the surface and which is prudent to call cream.

At least the situation is clearer. When I step off a cliff, life instantly takes a very clear direction.