Book: The Wheel Of Time

... those first, fast as a spark in the dark, flying feeling! They rather than years experience.

Nothing so unites people like a smile.

You say too much? Nothing. The wine is light and the Grenadines only beats the taste of sulfur. Look, no offense. I noticed your momentary glance, sidelong. You know, you have thought about me: "I do Not fell it?" No, my friend: I am not descended, and so to say, devastated. Empty soul, and left me alone only bodily case. Live by the immutable law of inertia. Is business, is money. Healthy morning reading Newspapers and drinking coffee, all right. Wine taste only in the event that the company, although the company itself I did not fun. But the soul is ruined. Contemplate for days indifferent, as long-familiar film.

But damn the foolish pride, it's stupid touchy stubbornness, which so often prevents even the bravest people to confess aloud to their guilt or error. This false shame, false pride often suffer from tough, smart, strong personality, but most often children and Russian intellectuals, and especially Russian politics.

This unknown strange Caprice of time: when in a hurry, when every step of the road, the hours fly like minutes. But when you wait or miss the minutes stretched into hours.

Oh, this Russian tinkering in their own and others ' soul! May it be cursed!

But like a bottomless deep area of the intimate love duet. For anybody not permeable, alcove life binds two people - man and woman - night selfish secret; makes them like accomplices in a sweet sin, which no one is allowed to confess, which, even among themselves, ashamed to speak in the afternoon and loud.
This force of passion, conquers all the awkwardness, brings together the extremes, smooths the bumps, depersonalizing the individual, it equalizes all the difference: sex, blood, descent, breed, age and education, and even social background - so inexpressibly all-powerful its scary, blissful and Blazhnov power!
But in this element always dominates is not the one who loves more, and the one who loves less: the strange and evil paradox!

Dreams. After all, they sometimes do not leave us for a long time; their taste, their tone sometimes heard us all day long.

I remember every word, every smile; now is my secret casket with treasures.

However, men are, perhaps, never get comfortable with the fact that the woman is hard to understand, but if she fell out of love, by past love will never return. Men, however, this return often drawn.

Oh, everyone in the soul, somewhere in her poorly lit nooks roam these Promysly, paulocosta, palabras, that ashamed to say aloud even to each other, they are toed.