Book: The sorcerer. Page 1

I was filled with a bitter sadness, a mixture of memory and knowledge; memory of the past and the proper knowledge about what is nothing to return; and at the same time vague guesses, only to return and not worth it...

Still troubles me fueled from the waste rock of the agony I removed the nuggets of good.

To break a ban or not - each determined by himself, depending on personal inclinations: I prefer one flavor of cigarettes, you the other, what is there to worry?

But this is just crazy. It would be like to get engaged, without deciding, married or not. And then it turns out that there is. We must not give commitments. We have no choice.

Each had what the other lacked, plus compatibility in bed, the same bias, and the absence of complexes.

I didn't know where to go, but knew that I was going to look. Foreign land, foreign people, foreign language...

... probably know what you shouldn't do.

Without a cigarette in her mouth was like a yacht without a mast; a sure sign of disaster.

Cynicism often cover impotence.

Sometimes there is nothing vulgar than to return.

Trusting gray eyes - an oasis of innocence in a corrupt face.

- I think I would have all night to wait for someone besides you?
I think I would go back today, to someone besides you?

In any situation he sees the factors leading to feel lonely, to justify their hostility to meaningful social relations and obligations, and hence its regression to an infantile stage driven autoerotism.

Black cyclopium burelom in the forehead, twined with white ribbons and rosettes - is that the way anyone seem a fool.