Book: Perfumer. The story of a murderer

He bathed in private, anything not distracted existence and found it splendid.

There are people looking for solitude: penitents, failures, saints or prophets. <...> He did not repent and did not expect any revelation. He left people solely for their own pleasure, just to be close to himself.

Inflamed with rage heat is the enemy of delicate flavors.

Behold, I have created a great work, and I am quite satisfied. But like everything perfect, it starts inducing boredom.

... all the same the possession and the loss seemed to him more desirable than a simple rejection of both. Because he refused his entire life. But I have never had and never lost.

Falling asleep, he was sinking deeper and deeper into myself and made a triumphal entry into his inner fortress, where celebrated in the dreams of some sort of victory sense of smell, a giant Orgy with thick smoke of incense and of myrrh pairs in his honor.

Now he was glad all of them wiped off the face of the earth, these stupid, smelly, gratisyoung fellows just as then, the country of his soul, black as ravens wings, he wanted to erase all foreign odors. And he wanted to be noticed, he hates them, and they responded with hatred is the only ever tested them with genuine feeling.

Now, under the protection of the various smells that he is depending on external circumstances changed, as dresses, and are allowed to think that he is hurrying him to blend in the human world and hide their identity.

This one blow it was killed, and tenderness, and disgust, and joy, and despair.

He won, because he was still alive, and he had some freedom to move on.

All the brilliant beasts, so arranged that after an external event is laid a straight track in the whirling chaos of their souls.

The tick had scented blood. For years he was silent, withdrawn into himself, and waited. Now he unhooked and fall - even without any hope. But the greater was his confidence.

He wanted once, just once, to be perceived in its true essence and get people's response to their one true feeling - hatred.

What he always longed for, namely to be loved by other people, in a moment of success became unbearable to him, because he disliked them, he hated them. And suddenly he realized that he will never find satisfaction in love, but only of my hate to people and people to themselves.