Book: My favorite sputnik

Sometimes, in the morning you Wake up, look in the mirror and see not themselves but a complete stranger. That and look, behind itself, as from the train.

She wanted to hide in some nameless wilderness, and there to cherish, cherish your dearest memories.

... And actually exist in the Fate of any other results besides "momentary"?

... In this sense Sumire much different from that of many other people. When she asked me about something, she really sincerely wanted to know my opinion.

Life comes in slices, and the more we can not. One part ends, but another begins, one door closes, another opens. Reach the top, but there is another, higher.

As the saying goes, "good grow something that grows slowly."

The picture [view of the night Harbor] so impressed me that I wanted to cut it with scissors - such as it is, and to pin a pin on the wall of my memory.

We spoke silently in the hanging silence. <...> The silence between us, filled all the crevices, all voids in our souls.

Man needs something to push off to move forward.

It feels like I swallowed a cloudy sky.

I always feel a slight embarrassment when you have to talk about myself. Confusing the classic paradox of the question itself - "What am I?". When I tell my story, as the narrator, of course, conduct an audit of itself as the object of the story. That is, I choose: what to say, what not, give definitions, and is something planed on all sides. So I ask, how many in this "me" is objective truth of the real me?

In all what we think we understand pretty great hidden still exactly the same, what we absolutely do not understand.

In the dream, one should not separate one from the other. It is not necessary. Since there does not exist anything even remotely similar on the boundary line. It is clear that in the dream, there is almost no collision with objects, and even if they do happen, they are not hurt. But the reality is different. Reality bites.

I love this man. Exactly. And love me somewhere carries. But to get myself out of this powerful flow is impossible. No chance. Who knows, maybe carrying me in a very special, unknown world. Maybe it is a dangerous place. And already there hiding something (someone?...), and it is deeply, fatally me. I guess I will lose everything I have. But there is no way back. There is only one thing - to trust the flow. Even if such person - "I", burn it to ashes, disappear forever, though.