Book: Black spring

If what I paint, in the end will not be like the horse, I can always make it into a hammock.

... you should visit only those places where pointers do not call.

If you want, you can sit and watch people passing by. Everywhere something happens. Crazy tense expectation of something to happen.

Rules are as follows: tomorrow and yesterday off, but today lasts forever.

Now it's time for me to leave you and your Holy citadel. I intend to climb to the top of the mountain and wait there, still some ten thousand years while you are still uzskaite light. I wish at least for this evening, I dimmed the glitter of your lights and muted the volume. Tonight I want to reflect in peace and quiet. Want a chance to forget as you hum in your pyatnadtsativekovoy hive. Tomorrow you are free to complete their work for the destruction of your world. Tomorrow, maybe, you will sing in Paradise above the Smoking ruins of your world's capitals. But today I want to think about one person. About a lonely wanderer. About the man with no name and homeland. About the person I respect, because it has absolutely nothing in common with you: about yourself. Today the theme of my meditation I become myself.

Today's morning will be great, if yesterday did not bring a complete collapse.

Everything happens to me - a gift of fate, even the urinal.

I want back to the world of classic purity, in which shit is called shit, and angel angel.

Copy work is crazy - this is the worst of plagiarisms.

Release full bladder is one of the greatest pleasures of life.

The tragedy is that nobody sees the expression of hopeless despair on my face. There are thousands and thousands, we pass by and don't know each other.

We have to act as if the past was dead and the future unrealizable. We have to act as if the next step were the last which he, in essence, is.