Book: Despair

I was completely empty, like a transparent vessel, waiting for the unknown but inevitable content.

Ardalion farted lips.

There is no such thing Felix, which could not be operated. I will say more: there is no such thing that cannot be operated for a very long time and very successfully.

Sadly nodded and spat again. Always surprised at how much saliva the common people.

... Woe to the imagination, which is not accompanied by humor.

And beard, I began to grow not so much to hide from others than from themselves.

Mirror, thank God, in the room there is no God, whom I praise.

One smart Latvian, whom I had known in 19 year in Moscow, told me once that wanton reverie, sometimes enveloping me, a sign that I finish in the madhouse.

Everyone, of course, preferred that said, he's like you, not the other way around: you are at it.

Literature is unimportant, you know. For the time being I wrote it, I thought out very cleverly and deftly - as sometimes happens with dreams - in the dream perfectly, brilliantly, I say - and you Wake up, remember: a flaccid stuff.

Honesty and sentimentality just equals stupidity.

... At first I thought, isn't it easier just to send the aforesaid work directly to some publisher, German, French, American, - but it says something in Russian, and not all translatable, and I must admit I value my literary coloratura and sure damn different camber, different tone - all goes down the drain.

The idea of God was invented in the morning of the world talented varmint...

I did not manage to return to your shell and old to stay within yourself - in such a mess: the furniture is moved, the bulb popped past my torn to shreds.