Book: Farewell to Matyora

You, Daria, many not take - Zaman, and take you on the most things first: in order to have a conscience and from conscience to endure.

It may be for us a little and see what the earliest time was people duck it will itself not looking. All headlong run forward. Too out of breath, stumbling at every step - no running... Where there nazad... at his feet nekogda to look... like being chased.

[Tyatka] says: live, Daria, Pokal live. Bad or good - live, then you live fell. In Woe, in evil you go swimming, of forces struggling, we want to - no, live, move to stronger to catch us with white light, get a splinter in it that we were.

Everything that lives on earth has one meaning - the meaning of life.

... What they think dreams are just memories, even in the most distant and sweet hand-drawn mind - only memories. The dream is not given to anyone.

And pikuleva I tutaka, you have me wings and all that.

It is a string with knots: the knots when one bloom dies, but the other, at the other end, tie a new one.

Eh, we're all good individually people and how to be reckless and many are purposely doing evil all along!

Man can not live without that over someone not bossy, he is the sweetest service, and the longer he spent under the authority of another, the more then trying to catch up on his.

Without business, without having to need it, man can not live.

Dream nee, preparing for life, nothing about her even without knowing how pocha you a man, and started a family - one can only hope. But and hope with each passing year less and she melts like snow, until you fail completely, having soaked into the earth, and now in front of you no hope, and fleet steaming out of the ground memories.

And where is the nature of man, of his own any other similar kind if so much depends on luck or not? What happens to people if it says place? <...> It a little, it turns out that man of his, given to him from birth, and how much by fate, from where it is today came and that brought with us.

Lord, how easy it is to part people with their loved ones, how quickly he forgets all who are not children to him: the wife forgets her husband, her husband's wife; sister forget brother, brother sister. Bury - hair tearing his grief, the legs can not stand, and it takes six months, a year, and who lived together for twenty, thirty years, who had children and doted each groomsman a single day, as if never existed. What is it? This is meant to be or do zakamenela man? And about her children, laid before himself, he suffers because he feels his guilt: he was obliged to protect them and not preserved.

Right now everything is running. And at work, and at the table - have no time. This th in the world work! Baby on the run give birth. And he, the baby, did not have time to be born, now on his feet stood up, one word did not say, and out of breath.