Book: Diary. Page 2

From the forgotten precious items that's what we save. Artifacts. Replica memory. Worthless Souvenirs. That is not to auction. The scars of happiness.

She still loves you. She wouldn't have tortured you if I didn't love.

The day begins with the alarm and does not end with TV.

Art is born only from grief. And never joy.

Betrays us all, what we will do. Our art. Our children. But here we are. We're still here.

The same miracles can be repeated again and again, the main thing about them was forgotten.

When everything collapses - and it always collapses - the dreamer returns to the world.

Sedona, key West, San valley, the paradox is that half a million people going to the same place to get some privacy.

... we have a natural instinct to hide. Like animal species, we seize land and defend it. We can migrate following the climate or the game, but we know that to stay needed the land, and our instinct is to take its place under the sun.

If you believe graphology, when you take your index finger and encircle them someone's handwriting, or just take a wooden stick or spoon, write on top of the written words, you can exactly feel what the writer felt when he completed the inscription.

Today is the longest day of the year, although today all the days are.

How much sweat and tedious effort spent to create something that looks effortless improvisation.

Confirmation long ago known truth you can always extract the fresh pain.

And your head is the cave. Eyes - two entrances. You live inside my head and see only what they want to see. Only see the shadows and give them a coined meaning.