Book: House by the cemetery

The laws we honor both ha ha! - to the extent that they serve our pleasure, and nothing more. If these laws start to threaten us, then of course the situation is different.

Do not assume that your friend, who is a friend of your vices; if you rise up against those who tells you your weaknesses.

As you know, the one who listens rarely hear good about themselves; peeping also sometimes sees not what he would want.

How great, sir, my fate from others. There are people worse than me... much in every way worse... and, damn them, they thrive, and I go down. It's not fair!

Love is like a fever, attacks, releases, and back again. Sick - even his nurse and doctor, if he called those of his aid - believes that the disease was gone, the passion dried up, the flame was extinguished and the smoke even cleared. But no, a whiff of jealousy suddenly blow away the ashes, and lo and behold - under her smoldering old feelings.

... man, devoured by fever of a secret trouble, enough trifle, a bit, to get out of yourself.

Honest everyday prose often fraught with ten times more amazing than any fiction epic poets, even the best.

How are we stupid and blind; if, despite our desperate pleas, we comprehend the blow, our belief in the power of prayer is shaken; we think that our words reached the ears of the Omniscient, is not called compassionate response. However, are we capable enough to penetrate deeply into the essence of the sublime-the unknowable, far-planned game that determines the fate of our and other people below, sitting at the Board with the confidence to dictate the moves?