Book: But I

Life is the endless succession of phases of tranquility and turmoil, the sequence and duration of which shall be subject to no theory.

I often regret that spoken words can't be erased that there is a special pen that is able to cancel the faux pas even before it was heard.

Insomnia is a fee charged for a rich imagination.

Life is a huge mountain, which does not dissolve with water, do not spray in the air, a solid element, resisting any influence.

We learn to solve equations with the unknown, pursue parallel lines and prove theorems, but in real life there is nothing to decide, pursue and prove.

Things can change, and the infinitely small can become great.

I don't want my world turned into a subset And that has nothing to do with other subsets - In, With or D, don't want to remind built compass a closed circumference, the center of which - emptiness. I would prefer to live differently, to follow a straight line, leading to the place where the worlds intersect, intermingle, where life is simple and clear, where nothing can stop suddenly without any reason, especially where the important points would be equipped with a user manual.

It is covered with a fatigue, just a transparent grey veil which wraps it and, perhaps, protect.

Christmas is a lie that makes all family members to gather around a dead tree, dolled up in the nines; false consisting of empty conversations, hidden under tons of festive pudding; a lie in which no one believes.