Book: The end of the movie, or Gypsum trumpeter

Having a smart, well-read lady, you, to some extent, squeeze in the arms of not only the body but all of her rich inner world that informs the carnal production of cognitive sharpness.

In the male, returning from his mistress, there is always good humour well-fed predator.

One remembers, unfortunately, much more than is necessary for happiness...

We always fall in love with the best woman, and throw always the worst.

The brain accommodates the mind, no more than embrace love.

By the way, about the national idea. Its Cossacks a long time ago invented. You know what? And here: to our family was not the translation! And that's all. Nothing else.

Tradition requires talent and innovation enough chutzpah.

Freedom is only acceptable degree of coercion! No more! Change the axe to the guillotine and will feel free!

Jealousy, like hiccups, a condition of involuntary and mind control.

In memory of every man is the dead end of Shame, where he is trying hard not to look, preferring to skip fed thoughts, say, on the Boulevard of Virtue or the prospect of a single Vertex...

Death is the most important life experience, but to use it, alas, can not.

Her marriage was at a standstill, and she, like a real Russian woman, looking for a way not in their beds, and smart books.

Child for women is a chance to live another, new life, in which everything will be better, smarter, cleaner, more dignified than her own. That is why the mother is suffering from the mistakes of the child as if she committed them.

Art exists in order to punish the wicked, because life doesn't do the job.