Book: Holidays in a coma

I love to be the second. I have a talent for it.

In the end, in order to rule, enough to be able to listen to, to impress the cultural person and to be able to get public.

... Significantly only sorrow. But happiness can be realized only when it was taken from you.

If you want the truth, then one is not a thinking reed: man is a thinking robot.

The burden of shyness and social conventions falls off their shoulders as soon as they get drunk... all of a Sudden it becomes very easy to speak on any subject, especially about the things complicated, painful, personal what you will not tell even the closest people: in this state, the words roll off the tongue themselves, and then feel great relief. The next day they will blush from one only memories of what was said. They will regret his frankness, biting fingers in shame. But too late: strangers already know all about them, and there is only faint hope that the next time they pretend to not know them...

Our generation have not got any ideas. We wander through the desert, not fucking understand.

... perseverance in a senseless quest to be admired.

Milota her angered him, made me desire to hurt her.

At parties, nothing has the right to hold attention for longer than five minutes, neither talking, or people. Otherwise you're in danger of something worse than death: boredom.

Deep down mark, like all his friends, dreams of one thing - falling in love again.

The first profession of our age is to make people crazy.

There is no difference between the party and life: they are born, evolve and fade away according to the same scheme. And when it comes to an end, it's time to eliminate all the consequences, fixing overturned chairs and sweeping the floor.

Constantly annoy others - disgusting. But to disappoint them constantly and diligently - is an enviable lot. Frustration - act of love: it makes you a devotee.

Shower of champagne, buckets of ice, worn on the heads instead of hats, bronchopneumonia in the future...