Book: Teen. Page 2

It would be necessary to reduce all women at once to the level of mere domestic animals and keep it to yourself in this form only: perhaps very many people want this.

A lost and embarrassed newcomer on the first day of entering a school (whatever) is a common victim: he is ordered, he is teased, he is treated like a lackey.

To write intelligently, one desire is not enough.

I am not a writer, I don’t want to be a writer, and I would consider it indecency and meanness to drag the inside of my soul and a beautiful description of feelings into their literary market.

The writer has been writing for thirty years and at the end does not know at all why he has been writing for so many years.

Sorry if in the end he will say to himself as I am: je sais tout, mais je ne sais rien de bon*. I really do not know why I lived!

Ask for money - a very story, even salary if you feel somewhere in the folds of conscience that they are not entirely deserved.

There is a simplicity that trusted everyone, never suspecting mockery. Such people are always of limited intelligence, for are willing to shell out from the heart all the precious newcomer.

Popped Russian people a little bit from the state, legitimized for him by the custom of the rut - and he now doesn't know what to do. In a rut, everything is clear: the income, rank, position in society, crew, visits, service, wife and a little that and what am I? A leaf blown by the wind.

That's immoral and akin to the love that she deserved. Love must be earned.

There are three sorts of scoundrels in the world: the scoundrels naive, that is convinced that their meanness is the highest nobility, scoundrels ashamed, that is ashamed of their own meanness, but the essential intention is still to finish, and finally just bastards, thoroughbred scoundrels.

I don't owe anyone anything, I pay society money in the form of fiscal levies for the fact that I was not robbed, had not arrived and was not killed, and no more demands on me dares. I can be, personally and other ideas and wants to serve humanity, and will, and, perhaps, ten times more will than all the preachers; but I want to be with me, no one dare to claim, to make me like Mr. Kraft, my complete freedom, even if I don't lift. But to rush and fall on everybody's neck from the love of humanity, and dissolve in tears of emotion - it's only fashion. Why am I bound to love my neighbor there or your future mankind, which I'll never see that about me will not know and which in turn will decay without a trace, and memories (time here means nothing), when the Earth will turn to turn into an icy stone and fly in the vacuum of space with an infinite set of the same ice rocks, then there is pointless why you can not imagine! Here your teaching! Tell me why I must be noble, especially if it continues for one minute.

One must be too disgustingly in love with yourself to write without shame about himself.

"She and Lambert - Oh my God!" - I thought in disbelief, looking at her. However, I will say: I still don't know how to judge her; her feelings could actually see one God, but the man also is a complicated machine that did not understand in other cases, and in addition to the same, if this person is a woman.