Book: Summer morning, summer night

- Why do we need this love?
- Well, how? She can say, lubricating oil. Friction eliminates. After all, in life as that someone's elbow will cut himself on someone's leg giving. People hurl mutuzyat each other poureslami, and without malice, and therefore need to take this font with clean oil, otherwise you will not get far. Brakes will burn for the first mile.

A kiss is only the first note of the first measure. And then will go to the Symphony, but it can happen and cacophony...

They tore down a bunch of grapes with a rough wild vine. Look at the berry against the sun - it clearly show through the grape thoughts, immersed in densely-amber pulp, hot seeds of thoughts that had accumulated in the vine during the long afternoon hours of solitude and contemplation plant.

And he thought: sing under the Windows, sing under the Apple trees, sing in the yard, while guitar chords not reach her ear, while she does not pour tears. Will make a woman cry - I think you win. All of her pride as the arm lift, and music will help you do that.

The mother was torn between two truths. After all, children have their own truth - the unsophisticated, one-dimensional, but she has her own life, too naked, a grim and all-inclusive to open her sweet innocent creatures that were leaping, laughing they run in developing cotton dress to meet his ten-year world.

In every man, even if he is unaware, even if such thoughts no, glimmer of the image of the woman he is destined to love. What weaves its way all the melodies heard in his life, of all the trees, childhood friends, - no one dares to tell. Whose eyes she has: not his own mother, whose chin: not if cousin sister, who a quarter century ago, swam with him in the lake - no one can know. But read it, every man, carries this picture, like a locket, like mother-of-pearl cameo, but extracts the light rare and after the wedding doesn't even to avoid comparisons. Not everyone happens to meet the love of his life, except that it flashes in the dark of a cinema, pages of a book or somewhere on the street. And then after midnight, when the city is asleep, and the pillow cold. This portrait is woven of all the dreams of all women, from all the moonlight nights from the time of creation.

It is a flower without fragrance was noticed by the elderly. - Now many girls like flowers. If you touch them, and they are paper...

He was only twenty, and with every woman that was sitting on the porch when he walked by, or waving from the bus, he had a failed affair.

The memory of everything in his own way alters. Multiplies by two, three, or even four.

Girls, when they're in love, just seem stupid, because nothing they at this time do not hear.

You just need to grow the kind of person who looks at the world with open eyes and not deluded. In this case, even human treachery seems funny, nothing more. When you realize that in human nature there is always a particle of evil, it will be easier to survive.

Some deliberately choose such a fate: they are crazy, and eager for the view outside the window is changed every week, every month, every year, but with age you begin to realize that just collect worthless and unnecessary road of the city, not more thorough than the cinematic scenery, and escorted the eyes of the people-mannequins that flashed in the Windows behind the window of a slow night train.

Never know how that girl in a moment becomes suddenly trot. The man comes across.