Book: Breakfast overlooking Elbrus

... the typist Marina - the dandy and wild, absolutely fantastic brunie. When she spoke: "Hello, my name's Marina", was no doubt that one of the four words was a lie.

Hope is the desire to cheat. In fact, hope is a hoax.

... Are we going by trolley № 23. He stops at Stoleshnikov lane, the store "Fur". Outside the window - the crucified skin of a wolf, black-brown foxes, curled up, hats from rabbits and Karakul. It was evening, and in the window lit the light. "The store is dead," said my daughter. She could not forgive humanity, no guns, no bombs, no death as a system. Then, when both my ex-wives separated me from my daughter - one of the high and noble considerations ("that scoundrel will never see my daughter!"), and the second due to the unbearable, painful jealousy, I would often come to her kindergarten and standing in the shade of a tree, seen from a distance, as in the funny ranks of red, blue, pink caps floats and her chicken hat for protection from the wind from the inside lined with silk. I felt that my daughter misses me. I didn't just know, and feel. We were not separated, neither the miles nor the oceans, nor snow. We were separated passion, the horrifying cruelty of the characters, a desire to make little of a man born for the good, the evil instrument of revenge. Never, until death I will not be able to forgive that neither, nor both of these women, my former wives, whom I loved and who swore to me eternal love. <...> "I have to go to the window - I thought, - there, where crucified the gray wolf rolled over in a ball of black-brown Fox. To shop the dead". So I was thinking about myself, and it was true. I have been killed. What was left of me, it was a different person.

And by the way - smiled Elena, the life and consists of melodramas, skits, musical comedies. Sometimes - even a skit. Petty feelings, small genres.

I can't tell you - don't be stupid, this advice is already too late. But I can tell you - don't be ridiculous.

- Her past, her husband was something serious, ' said Glory. - Something like love. In such situations bad to be second. Best third.
It is all figured out! - I asked.
"I will," replied Glory. - Yes, and it's obvious! The second drops all the responsibility, he doesn't look like the first. Or Vice versa like. Compare it. It is always not good enough. It is not so spanks Slippers as the previous one. Chew with some crunch (the chewing might be more disgusting, but native). Both did not wash himself after the bathroom, but that doesn't wash the second is annoying because he resembles the first. And so on. Next to divorce. A year Madam lives alone, and now she both seem to be the villains - the first who abandoned her, and second, who threw it. Here, when the longing reaches its climax, there is a third. This modest companion with a barely emerging bald spot. Physicist practitioner-theorist, a member of the voluntary people's squads. Here he will remove the whole harvest from a field where he faithfully worked for two of the shock worker.

I have forgotten a lot. My memory is like a fishing net, eager to protect themselves, if raised from the bottom too heavy and gloomy boulders of memories.

Well, Bob - academician of the women. From him still alive no one left. If he goes it, hi hot.

... true love is terrible. Terrible as well as terrible all real values of life: mothers, children, the ability to see, ability to think - in short, everything that you can really lose.

There is no hope. Maybe a miracle will happen. Not mine and not your fault that I met you such a dick. Like the old joke: she lived with one but loved another. All three were deeply unhappy.

Never having been in the mountains, my ex-wife confidently said: "Mountain? The mountain is the place where cheating wives, drinking bad vodka and break a leg."

Sometimes I was tempted downright feminine curiosity: who is she, man? What a Prince and that the coach met her on asphalt roads whose cracks hastily filled in the spring and are full of stains from the crankcase oil? What he told her? What was offered? I would like to know how much she appreciated my life. <...> We talked and talked, sometimes reaching almost telepathic understanding of each other. The connection of our bodies become a continuation and confirmation of the other, indescribable connection connection of souls. I tried to love what he loved for many years. All the arithmetic of life was in those days against me. I was only higher mathematics of love, which we both solemnly believed. Not only that - we've got our own language, and that cryptographic communication was the surest sign of true feelings. No, the alternative, my life did not exist. But one night, she firmly and evil broke this life. Love is not peculiar to causation, and I never would have asked the question - what for? But sometimes I'm curious to know - at what price?

Looked at sixth lane - if there was an obituary for me. No, it's fine. When we jump from the train, the locomotive doesn't feel it. And already in the room, standing under the shower, I thought that really the metaphor deceives us, and all comparisons are inaccurate, even false. No train and there was not. I just ran from my problems. Drapanul. And now <...> trying to blame everyone but yourself.

Can't be all that fast. Quickly fell in love with fast lived, fast breakup quickly forgotten, quickly fell back in love with. Nonsense. Wedge knocked out a wedge only when cutting firewood.