Book: My Ragnarok

This moment was very large, but it did not become forever.

The time that we supposedly have, is the most evil of spells <...> All we have is one single moment, and certainly it is still in our hands! This moment can become a moment of weakness, or an hour of power - all depends only on us.

Yes. Everything always has to be the way I want. All other options are deadly annoying me since childhood!

We are all crazy, each in his own way.

Do not anger a fate she does not like complaints, especially when they come from its elected representatives.

You shouldn't sweat the small stuff. One of two things: either you can't change anything, and then worry is useless, or - in this case you need to get going and not waste your strength worrying and anger.

But - perhaps this is one of the laws scoffer nature! - the less enthusiasm you cause all of humanity in General, the greater the chances of a total stranger to touch a mysterious, thin, painfully striking the right chord in your heart. Enough of nothing: suddenly a desperate smile, turning the head in which the face of random conversation then for a moment becomes an angel face, warm hands, trustingly clutching in the dark in your own hand, Golden sparks of merry madness that rocks the dark swamp dull eyes - and you suddenly realize that you would do anything just to inhale his real life in this amazing, alien creature, and then deploy it face up to the sky and ask, breathless with reverence for the accomplished miracle: "well, now do you see?"

Still, a good conversationalist is the greatest luxury, inaccessible to most beings born under this sky, no matter how important they may be. A good conversationalist, to my taste, is absolutely impossible without a horse dose of irony, which in my opinion should pripravljena every other sentence - at least!

Why is it assumed that when a person begins to publicly refer to themselves, a loved one, his mental health is in great danger. Don't know how it is with all other human beings, but in my case everything is just the opposite: the most reasonable and practical advice I give to myself out loud, but when I say no, I can expect anything, not only demonstrable evidence of my sanity...

Worthless poet who writes based on the fact that his scribbles will ever read! The poet writes not for the people, not for gods, not even for eternity, which hardly can read, but only because burning words come from nowhere and mercilessly tearing the Breasts, or because of the poet nothing but words, and he is afraid to disappear, if you stop saying...

All for the best: not every secret has to be divided into two.

The problem is that I don't like to go back. In any case, where I had gone in the firm belief that it is forever.

When you think that you have long since everything is known, and suddenly at the end of life find that you have control of the knowledge easily fits on a single page of a thick volume, and he is not the only one in the endless maze of the library, it is difficult to maintain equanimity.