Book: Arch. Page 2

Eyes. They sparkle like lightning. Delicate reddish lightning, born from the chaos of glowing candles.

She was completely committed to what she was doing at the moment. He had a vague conjecture: this has not only its own charm, but also some danger. She was the most delighted when she drank; love itself when it loved; despair itself when it despaired, and oblivion itself when it forgot.

Everything about her was a mystery, a mystery, an exciting call.

Everything she did seemed to capture her undivided, even if she was doing something secondary, insignificant.

The history of European walruses. The decline of civilization. Tired and formless twilight of the gods. Faded banners of human rights. Sale of an entire continent. The impending flood. Fussy traders, concerned only with price conjuncture. A pitiful dance at the edge of a volcano. Nations, slowly driven again to the slaughter. The sheep will be sacrificed, the fleas will be saved. As always.

My dreams must seem ridiculous to you. You know everything about me.

Generally, he was able to tolerate the vicissitudes of life: behind forty years of the troubled life and changeable life. A situation like this was nothing new. He lived in Paris for several years, suffered from insomnia and night often wandered the city were obliged to see every.

- Do not need to take with you.
She looked up at him.
Never?
Never.

Child. In this decaying body to the touch, blindly made their way to the light a new life. And she, too, was doomed. Unconscious Rostock, gluttonous, greedily sucking something. It could play in the parks. Someone to become - an engineer, a priest, a soldier, a killer, man... It would have lived, suffered, rejoiced, destroyed...Tool, moving confidently along the invisible wall, encountered an obstacle, carefully broke it and pulled... the End. The end of everything that has not gained consciousness, everything that is not gained life - breathing, delight, complaints, growth, development. There is nothing left. Only a piece of dead meat drained of blood and a little Gore.

He was half drunk - the doors of perception were opened, clanking timing chain is broke, the powerful and fearless memories and dreams surrounded him. He wanted to be alone.

There are things that I'll never get used. It is difficult to get to the cause.

And people have to go through this to escape he can't. Fate will always catch up to you. You want to go, but she is stronger.

Doctors in General should be avoided, he said. Otherwise you just lose confidence in them. You, for example, many times we drank and I've seen you drunk. Can I then agree to let me have surgery? Let me even know that you're a skilled physician and work better than the other, unfamiliar surgeon - still, I will go to him. People tend to trust those whom he does not know: it's in his blood, man! Doctors should live in hospitals and less often to be seen. It was well understood by your predecessors - witches and healers. So as soon as I go under the knife, you have to believe in something supernatural.

Romantic rainbow over the reflexes glands, above the digestive rumbling. The authority of Supreme ecstasy at the same time organized to highlight...