Book: Consolatory party game of petanque

Do you remember what weekend? These are two inappropriate days at the end of the week...

... she did not fit in any frame and fought back to somewhere to fit in.

Put on some music, rolled up my sleeves, wiped the table clean with a rag and all chopped into small pieces: garlic, asalat, his weakness and his doubt.

It was just enough to know that it exists, even far away from him let alone from it, and it did comfort him...

If something in your life is causing you suffering, flee it, my dear. With all haste. And quickly.

- Well, what's so special about it?
- Lama.
- ?!?
- Lama, three thousand square meters closed area, river, five children, ten cats, six dogs, three horses, a donkey, chickens, ducks, goat, clouds of swallows, scars, rings, whips, a mobile cemetery, four stoves, chainsaw, cone crusher, the stables of the eighteenth century, is folded together so that sway, speaks two languages, hundreds of rose bushes and a stunning landscape.
And what does it all mean? - she stared.
Hmm! I see you sense as from a goat of milk...

What was then called happiness, and happiness is difficult.
Don't tell.
It is considered so.
So they say.
Happiness is empty, kasawo, boring and always exhausting.
Happiness is boring to the reader.
The killer of love.

At the table all three of them behaved impeccably, thoroughly chewed food and carefully avoided talking about what they are actually going.

- Why bother to have kids if they can't tell you about his love, when you grow up?[...]And then what actually remains? What do we have if we can't talk to each other about love, about the pleasure? Utility payments? Forecast the weather?

Then she smiled and allowed himself to love.

Her laughter brings me back to the window and recognized the house on the Boulevard Beausejour, to recognize the beautiful wife of my customer, to the moment when she Packed my heart and feelings in dirty polythene on the floor.

The family feast. Saturday dinner at well-bred people, where each plays its role. Which was donated to the wedding table service, horrible support under the knives in the form of taxes, spilt wine and kilos of salt on the tablecloth, the debate about TV debates, about thirty-five hour work week, France, handing over their positions on taxes, as without them, is not seen on the radar and the fine for speeding, evil says that the Arabs too quickly multiply, kind objects that do not generalize, the lady of the house says that the dish is overcooked, expecting nice for her assurances to the contrary, and the Patriarch worry about the temperature of the wine.

Look at them, Charles. As they are young and beautiful, one and all. And you know what they say?
"No," I replied.
- On your devices, God damn it! Povytaskivali their stupid gadgets and face off, one more gigs... Terrible, isn't it? To think that they have to ensure our peaceful old age!
No, seriously, people, you disappoint me... Yes, at your age you should die of love! To write poetry! To Plot The Revolution! Rob from the rich! Pack your backpacks and go to the end of the world! Try to change the world! But gigabytes?! Fu I don't know... then What could not loans to buy housing?

Maybe I should get a dog. That at least someone loved me and was happy every time when I get home... Maybe a toy? With large kind eyes and such a mechanism that it wagged his tail to be petted on the head.