Book: Evening Claire

- And nothing more? - I asked myself. And life seemed the same: I will live in the light so many years and come to my last minutes and I die. How? Nothing more?

I always unconsciously sought to the unknown, which hoped to find new opportunities and a new country; I thought of contact with the unknown will suddenly be resurrected and manifest in a more pure form all are important, all my knowledge and strength, and the willingness to understand something new; and clearly, thereby to subjugate it.

And as a child I invented their adventures on the pirate ship, which you told me dad, so then I created kings, conquistadors and beauties, forgetting that sometimes beauty was kogotkami, the conquistadors - killers and kings - fools.

Thought it was simple, but more strong and sincere; and that, gentlemen, is a great happiness.

If you stay alive after the end of this massacre, you will read special books a detailed exposition of the heroic defeat of white and shamefully-random victory red - if the book was written by a scholar sympathetic to white, and the heroic victory of the labour army of mercenaries of the bourgeoisie - if the author is on the side of the Reds.

The word "meaning," said Vitaly, - not would be a fiction only if we possessed an accurate knowledge of the fact that when we do so, there will be certainly such, and not different results. If it is not always infallible, even in a primitive, mechanical Sciences, under very specific goals and equally specific terms, how you want it to be true in the field of social relations, the nature of which unclear to us, or in the field of individual psychology, the laws of which is almost unknown to us? It makes no sense.

Every, or almost every, the quality, driven to the last degree, is no longer considered as ordinary property rights and acquires the power of attraction of exclusivity.

And, maybe, something I always did not regret about the people and countries that have left - maybe the feeling is only momentary regret was so illusive, because everything that I saw and loved - soldiers, officers, women, snow and war, it all will never leave me until, until my last, fatal journey, slow falling into a black depth, a million times longer than my earthly existence so long that while I'm falling, I'm going to forget everything I saw, and remembered, and felt, and loved; and when I forget all that I loved, then I die.

- You believe that the volunteers will win?
- No, not believe, and therefore I will not be disappointed.

All the history and romanticism, and the art was only then, when the event which gave rise to their occurrence, have already died and no longer exists, and the fact that we read and think about it - only the play of shadows, living in our imagination.

However, the danger of convergence, imaginary and real, which I thought was his illness, was never far away from me; and occasionally, attacks of mental fever I couldn't feel my true existence; the hum and ringing in his ears was, and I was getting so hard to keep, so hard to go like I was with my heavy body trying to move in that dense air, those gloomy landscapes of my imagination, where it is so easy to slip surprised the shadow of my head.

That night seemed to me more obvious than ever that any efforts I can't suddenly embrace and to feel the infinite sequence of thoughts, impressions and feelings, the totality of which occurs in my memory as a series of shadows, vague and reflected in the liquid mirror of a later imagination.

But here's what I advise you: never become a strong person, don't jump to conclusions, don't argue and try to be as simple as possible. And remember that the greatest happiness on earth is to think that you at least understand something of the life surrounding you. You do not understand, you will only seem that you understand; and when you remember it after some time, you will see that was wrong. And in a year or two make sure that and the second time was wrong. And so on without end. And yet it is the most important and most interesting in life.

The maid came and went five times a night, and when I told Claire that her maid is very well preserved for her age and that her legs have absolutely youthful vigor, but which, however, I think it is not quite normal - she has a craze or movement, or just subtle, but undeniable weakening of mental abilities associated with advancing age, Claire looked at me sadly and said that I should Refine my special Russian wit on the other. And above all, according to Claire, I would have to remember that yesterday I was in a shirt with different cuff links that it is impossible, as I did the day before, put my gloves on her bed and taking Claire by the shoulders, I'm not exactly greeted by the hand, and shoulders, why do I never happen, and that if she wanted to list all my errors against the elementary rules of decency, she'd have had to say... she thought, and said, five years. She said this with a straight face - I felt sorry that the little things to upset her, and I wanted to ask her forgiveness; but she turned away, her back began to tremble, she held a handkerchief to his eyes - and when she finally looked at me I saw that she was laughing.