Book: Back on the trail

They are these dogs. You can not love, but if we are really in trouble, always ready to help.

The snake that still gnawed at my heart lately, have died.

I didn't care what he is, just if we had to leave for a while, it seemed to be something wild, it's like a hand cut off, you know? Here was the hand - no, and must be, such things.

We became friends immediately and firmly. You know the feeling when a puzzle in which the elements of sea and sky are confused, finally going as it should. Like it was normal and it was possible so to leave, but now - right.

The mother wanted her child to be the best. I could not understand who and why. It's such a boring and troublesome thing - to be the best. Instead of quietly doing what you like, and do not care at all, it was necessary to worry all the time about what people think of me, and watch out for those, as they would me something is not surpassed. A waste of time, in my opinion.

A woman in love find their happiness, more dangerous rattlesnake. It is for this happiness begins to fight, and quite often by happiness.
"I will conquer, subjugate, force myself to love, will prove that I am the best". You will not find it scary? Love, a free gift, to take the battle to snatch the blood?..

After all, everyone wants to have it reopened as a new earth, studied, loved, petted, and a lot more any "Li". Admired and admired, pleased and happy, surprised and amazed...

It is very dangerous to confuse interest with love, but to hold, it must be hard, because most men are not interested in women and very few know about them. For comparison: how many written books on how to catch and keep a man, and how many about women? Well, how many of them read and by whom? The idea is clear?

If he could change? I don't know. Could a large world in which all have enough space to collapse to a fenced yard only for their own? Hardly.

Yes, if that is my own delusion, you may think otherwise.

We are ready to share with someone joy, let grief shared by psychoanalysts such things.

Strange people began to perceive this world and their lives - as a large supermarket with shop Windows full of all. There's always a choice, right? You can always find something tasty and interesting. And there's no convincing my God, who would figachit lightning adulterers and perjurers. No vows that can't be broken. Not scary.

No, things are different now, I'm thirty-four, and in fairness I don't care, I only care about love. But, you know, and now I don't believe in open marriages. That is, I understand very well what it's like to love one person and sleep with just anyone. I don't know how to explain it, so just trust me - it happens. I do not see any contradictions. Well, if you love somebody, you're talking to other people, right? Are you interested? It does not prevent you loving this? That sex the same. But with open marriages is such a thing...

What else could I do? Just have to wait. I was like this stupid Solveig - my life was nothing but waiting. I was indifferent to everything. Since then, I believe, incidentally, that there's nothing more offensive such expectations - in relation to God, people, life and earth on which you tread.
No one can give his life - but it's so stupidly easy to miss, hiding behind some greater purpose.