Book: Full illumination. Page 3

As for Neuklyuzhe that I never call Neotlozhnoi, and always Igorka, then it's a boy - the highest grade. Now it is obvious that he will be a man with power and performance and that his brain will be excessively muscular. We don't conduct lengthy conversations, because he was such a silent man, but I'm sure we're friends, and I don't think I lie if I say that friends are paramount.

Brod discovered 613 sorrows: each is unique, each particular mental state, one is not confused with another, as sadness, in General, not to be confused with rage, delight, guilt or disappointment. Sadness in the Mirror. Sorrow Raised in Captivity the Birds. Sadness because Your Sadness to Notice the Parents. Sadness Funny. The Sorrow Of Love, Not Finding The Answer.

Again if you mess up, ' said Grandpa, chewing sausage, I'll stop the car, and you will come out of it with a foot in the ass. It will be my leg. It will be your ass. You understand this thing?

... and he knew that the right thing is always accompanied by feelings of guilt and what if you feel guilty, it probably means doing the right thing.

- However, I'm wonderful? she asked one day.
"No," he replied.
Why?
Because wonderful a lot. There is no doubt that today hundreds of men have called their loved ones is wonderful, but it's still only noon. But you're not.
You mean to say that I nezamechena?
Yes.

I'm afraid that the world will continue without me, that my absence will go unnoticed, or worse, will be perceived as a natural extension of an established order of things. Selfishness is it? Is it really immoral to wish that the world would end for all at the same time with mine?

You promised to pretend to love me until I die, but instead pretend that I died.

If you want to know who protects you from people who take without asking, then it's the police. If you want to know who protects you from the police, that is people who take without asking. And often it's the same people.

Humor is the only truthful way to tell a sad story.

By the evening it reached the desired: he was alone in the ocean of my grief, alone in the maelstrom of his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I'm not sad, again and again he repeated. - I'm not sad. Like you hope one day to convince yourself that. Or cheat. Or convince others - the only thing worse than the sadness is when you cannot hide it from others. I'm not sad. I'm not sad. But his life, like the empty white room, was full of unlimited opportunities for happiness. When he fell asleep, the heart was folded at the foot of his bed, just pet, living by himself. But the next morning it appeared again in the cage, behind the bars of ribs, a little heavy, faint, but, as before, working flawlessly.

I'm not a bad person. I'm a good person who happens to live in a bad time.

My mom is a humble woman. Very, very humble. She humpback in a small café, the remote for one hour from our house. It presents visitors with food and drink, and I said, "I took the bus for an hour to work all day doing things that I hate. Want to know why? For you, Alex-don't-push-me! Someday you are going to do for me the things that I hate. This is because we are family." What she catches is what I'm already doing things for her, which I hate. I listen to her when she talks to me. I am not complaining about my pygmy pocket tools. And did I mention already that nervous about it not so much as longed for to be. But it's not because we're family. All these things I do because they are common courtesy. This idiom, which taught me a hero. And because I'm not the ass with fucking-hole.