Book: Loneliness in the Network

God did not exist and could not be. Because if he existed, then he was either evil or powerless, or maybe evil and powerless at the same time.

I was thinking about how to endure God's silence.

And it seemed to him, since he himself was not capable of being bored, that it would be more honest to live in such a way that no one would miss him either. But this did not work out either.

But this was not a movie. This could only happen in life.

Calling look too bright, does not meet time-of-day cosmetics, demonstrative shake of the hips or too low neckline was replaced by a Network of exaggerated immediacy or provocative or aimed too deep and too personal questions. This behavior is very often covers insecurity, shyness, fear, complexes or simple sensibility.

There's nothing worse than loneliness.

"Why do you these stupid descriptions of a sick imagination defective deaf mute hysteric on invalid pensions, which can humiliate any ham only because he feels many times better than me because he hears?"
And as she nervously wrote, the characters became more and more promiscuous, just like becoming slurred voice of a man who cries, expressing resentment and despair. I remember I went up to her and pressed her to him. Then washed off with sponge and mirror its inscription and by the same token wrote for what to me these descriptions and how they are important to me. She clung to me, crying like a baby.

Still he does so in detail described their suffering. Didn't want to. And needs was not. Father already knew everything without words, and others... Others just didn't matter. But her he wanted to tell. Every detail. About every tear. And he did it. Why? Because it is far and not see the tears? Or because there is no one else to tell, but I really want to tell? Or maybe it's pure selfishness? The desire to share the sorrow of the past and thus to reduce its burden? Maybe it now means so much to him, so important, so set up with him in response and so trust worthy that he was not afraid even this level of intimacy? And it is also. But, perhaps, the matter does not end there.

Time does not heal. It leads to indifference. It kills everything that we loved so much.

Alicja... Lost half of a heart, relentlessly looking for his soul mate. <...> She dreamed of a great love, like a child dreaming about the presents under the tree. And everywhere desperately searched for her. <...> ... Alicja was the main prize in the lottery for heterosexual singles, divorced or planning to divorce. She was prepared for marriage, as German climbers to climb Everest.

... weekend is these two days that there is no need to go to work.

... despair, sorrow and pain can kill just the same as viruses.

He didn't cry. Could not. Tears came a few days after the funeral when he returned from the cemetery and saw the bathroom in her robe, a toothbrush and on the nightstand by the bed nedochitannaya bookmark in the book.

They parted, to finally meet.