Book: Delicacies Dexter

Moon. Full, bright, charming, cheeky moon looked into my window. Calling, beckoning, shining, smiling at me, beautiful, bright moon, his snake voice, woven from steel and shadows, whispering gentle nonsense, quietly repeated the two syllables of my name as its the same voice, bringing thoughts of darkness and blackened from fear or anticipation of pleasure the eyes, so familiar, so soothing voice.

I floundered in that corrodes the soul, devouring more than a human feeling of guilt.

Anyone familiar with stamps, knows that even the most unpleasant situation there is a way. Among thunderstorms will always Shine a ray of hope.

No, really, how many deaths, one worse than the other, could threaten the relatively innocent person in the course of the evening?

Nature is full of wonders, isn't it?

As I said, freedom is an illusion. Every time we speak, if we have a choice, it means we simply do not see the muzzle of a gun directed us to the navel.

Strange that I didn't die from self pity right in front of everyone, but if it was dead, hardly anyone ever lived to the age of fourteen.

Colors of the world once again faded, and everything around began to look dangerous.

Did you ever notice, no matter how much we talk about freedom, is always that we don't have? <...> But like everything in the world that looks good, freedom is only an illusion.

Complaints don't help.

I always thought that people talking on the phone sitting behind the wheel and moving at high speed, suffer from some serious mental illness.

Sometimes a short break and change the topic of conversation is all about what you dream.

What a pity that maiden modesty is no longer in the price.

Once again I felt as if all around in advance given the role of the text, and I'm forced to improvise.