Book: Zaire

I haven't been in those moments myself and no one else. And it was perfect.

Death found him alive.

Suffering, accept suffering, for it will not disappear just because you pretend it doesn't exist. Rejoice, take joy, even if you're afraid that someday it will disappear.

"I left." Why? Should I answer this question? No. Because the very issue is already hidden my inability to save the woman he loves. Whether to find her to convince to come back? To beg, to beg for another chance for our marriage? What nonsense - it is better to suffer the way I suffered before, when those I loved have abandoned me. To suffer and lick their wounds. Some of the time I'll be persistent to think about Esther, I will revel in bitterness, will irritate your friends that talk to me only about that. I will try to explain, to justify what happened, I will be the moments to remember a life spent beside her, and then come to the conclusion that she treated me cruelly, while I tried my best.
There will be other women. On the street in each woman will haunt me the traits of Esther. I'll suffer day and night, night and day. And so it will continue for weeks and months, and is probably little more than a year.
But one fine morning I will Wake up and catch yourself thinking about something else, and know the worst is over.
The wound in the heart, no matter how serious nor was she tight, I'll be back the ability to comprehend the beauty of life. It happened before, so I am sure will happen this time.

Anyone and everyone is under suspicion and the surveillance, even if they have not done anything illegal.

Crucifixion is the cruelest of executions invented by mankind. Remember, even Cicero called it "disgusting," for before his death, put to death on the cross is experiencing a terrible meal. And now when people wear a cross on his chest, hang a crucifix on the wall in the bedroom, seeing it as only a religious symbol, they forget that it is an instrument of torture.

Zaire is what I'm thinking for a brief moment, and then can't think of anything else. My Zaire is the name, and this name is Esther.

Medicine is not what you think. If in your world the boy went out to buy five apples, and return home with only two, you decide that the three missing he ate on the road. And we have not: we have a variety of other explanations can be eaten, and maybe he was robbed or five apples did not have enough money, or dropped somewhere, or met a hungry and decided to share it with him... thousands of Options...

The Rooftops Of Paris. Light box - families gather for Sunday lunch. Me feel, tested not so long ago on the Champs Elysees - the beautiful things, the more rejected I feel.

Drink chocolate, look at the clock, realizing that it's a little early to indulge in a pleasant feeling that I will again be part of humanity. At the moment I like to dream that Esther now appears at the door, pass through those beautiful Persian carpets, sit in silence, smoke, fixed glance out the window, squeeze my hand. Half an hour passes, half an hour, I believe just invented me a story, and then realize it's another game of imagination.

There is light - if you touch him or see him, it will take all your mind while not lead to madness.

If each morning to repeat that happy with my life, there is no doubt that not only believe, but make believe is all who are around.

Mortally wounded soldiers would never tell the doctor, "Save me!" Usually his last words: "Tell my wife and son I love them!"
In such a desperate point they talk about love.

Constantly feel miserable - a luxury.