Book: What I'm talking about when I talk about running

The discrepancy between the reference points may lead to differences which, in turn, can cause total misunderstanding. The result is an unfair criticism.

Sometimes, in order to moderate the harmful effects of loneliness, we have to get over yourself in an attempt to see the broader life context...

... a feeling of complete isolation, as splashed from a bottle of acid that can corrode your heart, to dissolve it until complete disappearance.

Heartache - this is the price we pay for independence.

Myself, and the world - a first for me.

For me, as, in General, and for everyone else, life is the first and only experience of ageing, and, therefore, all that I feel in that regard, I feel for the first time.

At this stage the right thing to refrain from definitive judgment on one side or another of this process, to postpone them for later and just live, accepting everything the way it is, not laying out the components.

The human soul abhors a vacuum. We are not strong enough, consistent enough.

I am often asked what I think about while running. Usually this question is asked by people who have never run long distances, and he always plunges me into deep meditation. Really, what I think while running? Honestly, I don't really remember what. And remember not obtained. I can say only one thing: on cold days I don't stop and think about the cold. And hot - no-no and think about the heat. If I'm sad, can reflect on the sadness, and if happily some of the joy.

When you run, you with no one to talk to and no one to listen. The only obligation is to look around at the moving scenery.

I still believe that music cannot be combined with the computer. Just as you can't mix friends and sex.

The sound of footsteps, breathing, heartbeat evolved into a unique polyphonic rhythm.

Moisturizing the shores, planting the summer grass, feeding waterfowl, hiding in the shade of the old stone bridges, in the summer reflecting the drifting clouds in the sky, and leaving in the winter under ice, a river, full of quiet determination, silently rushed to the ocean.

... I've aged ten years, so that the water literally flowed a lot. But despite all this, the river haven't changed - what was, such and remained. Still silent she was carrying their water...