Book: Novel with cocaine

And it turned out weird. It turned out that if a man does what he does - so he's a man. And if a woman does what a man - so she's a prostitute. And it was that dichotomy of spirituality and sensuality in a man - a sign of masculinity, and the dichotomy of spirituality and sensuality in a woman is a sign of prostitutional.

I was thinking about you in the third person, in my mind you became my "he's" thinking about you, I'm not talking to you directly, as if talking about you with someone else, someone who was closer to me than you and this "someone" was my mind. So I became a stranger to you.

The effect that we produce, expressing out loud our observation, the dearer to us the benefits that we could from this observation to extract, if it was silent.

Love is a feeling, which must grow all the time, all the time to move that for your movement it must receive pushes like a toddler Hoop, which only loses the power of movement and pauses, so the hour and falling.

To speak beautifully about love can he in whom this love is lost in memories, to speak convincingly about love the one in whom it has stirred up a sensuality, and all about love, silence must be the person she struck.

The Spaniards always sing about yearning passion, and Russian on longingly.

Courtesy asexual. Chivalry sexy.

For long nights and long days under the cocaine in agenoy room, a thought came to me that man are important, not the events in life, but only uragement these events in his mind. Let the events have changed, but because their change is not reflected in consciousness, this change has zero - absolutely nothing. For example, employees, reflecting the events of their own enrichment, continues to feel rich if he does not know that the Bank keeps its capital, has burst. So, people, reflecting your child's life, continues to be the father, since he had not reached even the news that a child is crushed and already dead. Man lives, therefore, not events in the outside world, but only uragement these events in your mind.

For the love of all men women are only women, except one in which he is in love: she for his people.
For a woman in love all men are the only people, except the man she loves: he is her man.

I understood that love is a feeling, which must grow all the time, all the time to move that for your movement it must receive pushes like a toddler Hoop, which only loses the power of movement and pauses, he falls to the ground. I knew that happy are those lovers who, because of the hostile people or unfortunate events, lose the opportunity frequently to meet. I envied them, for they knew that their love grows through the obstacles that arise between them.

To speak beautifully about love can he in whom this love is lost in memories - to speak convincingly about love the one in whom it has stirred up sensuality, and not to be silent about love needs someone she struck the heart.

The kindness you've shown villain. - disappoint quite the same as meanness committed by a man of high ideal.

When one person offends another, it is always an insult is of two kinds: intentional or unintentional. The first is not scary: answer quarrel, curse, kick, shot, and, no matter how it was rough, it always helps, and intentionally caused you insult washed off easily, like dirt in the bath. But the horrible insult that you caused does not intend, and inadvertently, not wanting this: terrible it is because answering it a curse, a fight, or even just expressing his external hurt, you not only do not weaken but on the contrary, had herself insulted to unbearable.

You see what we women are stupid: the effect that we produce, expressing out loud our observation, the dearer to us the benefits that we could from this observation to extract, if it was silent.