Book: Tango of the old guard. Page 2

Maybe it's the unbearable longing, the feeling of terrible emptiness at the thought of the inevitability of separation, devastating sadness, which has managed to supplant the instinct of self-preservation, is love?

Here's another right word: "devastation". Something like a wet, interior complaints when reminded of what was and what was not. Longing for unattainable warmth now.

This is chess. The art of deception, murder and war.

In order to become first, you need a hell of a job. Especially if you know that you never will be.

Chess players do not stand out mind among the rest of humanity. Just they have a different mind. Their receivers run on a different frequency.

Elegance can be bought with money, education, diligence and intelligence, but to carry it with utter naturalness the only one who is not what he did the first steps and crawling-he started on real Persian carpets.

Only doubt supports in a young man. Certainty same - something like a malicious virus. It infects you age.

I began to bear malice, you know, so shallow and disgusting, the way only we women when we feel bad...

Our history too has been postponed by the party... In two moves.
Three. Soon to be made by a third, Max thinks, but aloud don't say a word.

Buenos Aires has many faces. But the main faces he has two: a city of success and failure city.

What is tango, not the subordination of females? What is this dance, it always executable in a manner infinitely distant from salon etiquette, not full mutual possession? The resurrection of the ancient instincts, the ritual burning of the desires, promises, acquiring flesh and blood in those few swift moments that last music and seduction. Tango of the old guard.

Courtesy, as we know, is cheap, and expensive: courtesy of you invest in the future.

Need to have a great mind to his own feelings to pass off a fake.

My me will not pass and what has passed - it is not mine.