Book: The tale of the suicide

Talk of children is a kind of retelling of the facts of their life. Who what toy bought, whose dad is a fireman and so on. But the two of them talking for a few hours, already knew the most important thing about each other.

I do not believe that one who has love, has ever truly loved!

You know what is nicer to give than to receive gifts? There is a similar feeling, which is called the "rule of saving": when the lifeguard had just pulled out of the water drowning man rejoices more than the victim.

But when you've been left on the doorstep of the orphanage, it's hard to believe that your parents were decent people.

I went outside without a purpose, just walking his loneliness.

Miss the person you never see, is horribly unfair.

Now home seems a stranger to me. Because Home is where you are.

Mother writes at this time, the message: "Son, I'll be there in two hours." And the son stands on a stool, the neck slightly to tighten the noose, he hears the sound of an incoming message on the mobile. Jerked out of habit to the phone, he tilts the stool, the noose tightened to death, and it hangs on the bar without any possibility to escape. Happy mother comes home, says, "Son, I to you now will tell", goes into the room and shouts: the corpse of the boy hanging for two hours on the bar stool beside her and the saddest thing is that she will never understand the "joke" of his son.

Someone once said: "Trying to forget means to remember". And I don't want to forget. I want to remember.

Only when you come out of a noisy place, you realize how you missed the absence of any sounds.

Our life has no script! But there was a man who is willing to take responsibility and to write such a script!

Over several years of working with actors, I realized one thing: all theater - strange guys, and many of them method acting that to get out of their way can no longer.

I have noticed that Zoe is getting bored with me, felt she was lonely and the hours we spent together, was reduced to minutes, and minutes sincerity of seconds...

Underfoot the snow crunches headphones favorite songs and soft scarf hugging my neck. Now I'm alone with the tangle of his thoughts.