Book: The priest's daughter. Page 2

With children, loving children, can not cope, if not retain credibility; let it at least once to shake, you start to harass the cutest kids.

And if given the faith, as firmly as firmly you stand. You'll get discouraged if there's a clear goal, which can serve? All of life is illuminated by its light. No mental fatigue, confusion, doubt, feelings of futility, no lurking, lying in wait butlerovskie spleen. Every step need, your every moment is woven into the lively pattern is a wonderful celebration of the spirit.

Okay after all? No replacement no faith; no good pagan worship of the elements or primitive things pantheists, nor the religion of "progress" with the enlightenment shining utopias and concrete ant hills. All or nothing. Or earthly life, the prologue to something Great and Reasonable, or a nightmare dark of nothingness.

People seem capable of the lost hernia homesick.

You come out of the womb, live seventy years and then die, rot. And in every particle of life, not redeemed, no ultimate goal, the presence of sadness and desolation that cannot be expressed, but I feel physically aching heart. Life, if it really ends with the grave, terrible and monstrous. It is not necessary here to direct the fog. Imagine the reality of life, imagine this reality in detail, and then tell yourself that there is no meaning, no purpose, no destination other than the grave. After all, only fools, well, some unique lucky people will be able directly, fearlessly take a look at this, isn't it?

The alarm clock on the dresser banged nasty clanking bomb.

Of course, Dorothy's got their own, even more abundantly, share a cheeky courtship. She was the very measure and pretty and ugly - so what for the most part choose bored gentlemen. When a man wants to have some fun, he usually prefers the girl is not particularly pretty (beauty, he believes, are too spoilt and therefore capricious). The traditional object of hunting - the glorious ugly.

In the world evil enough and want more to seek out.

Not married women martout - withered like the Fig trees in the dark living room. And the devil that they can't even feel it.

It's a mysterious thing - the loss of faith, as mysterious as finding. Also not attached with roots in logic, but just climate change in consciousness.