Book: A vague smile

I thought, "Luke doesn't love me", and his heart started to sting dully. I've said it to myself and again felt pain, sometimes quite sharp. Then it seemed to me that any success I've achieved: if I can manage this dull pain, betrayed, armed to the teeth, ready to appear on the first call, therefore, I dispose of it. I said, "Luke doesn't love me", and everything ached inside of me. But despite the fact that I could almost always cause this pain at will, I couldn't stop her from spontaneously arise during lectures or during Breakfast, to take me by surprise and forced to suffer. And couldn't prevent this daily and a justified feeling of longing and umeboshi own existence among constant rain, morning fatigue, insipid lectures, conversations. I suffered. I told myself that suffer with irony, curiosity, do not know how else, just to avoid the pathetic obviousness of unrequited love.

Happiness is the thing smooth, without notches. Maybe happiness for such as I, is something of a distraction.

"Funny thing to say, but I think I love you," I lied, answering him in the same tone: "really funny, but I love you too."

In twenty years you can still afford causeless laughter.

And I imagined this final break in the form of letters to Luke, graceful, noble, explaining to him that it's over. But the letter interested me only to the extent of his grace and generosity again brought me to the Hatch. I barely mentally used these violent means and break up with Luke, both immediately started to think about reconciliation.

I couldn't say that I see everywhere, or at least want to see his car that I begin to dial a number phone but not have finished all that back, I frantically ask the Concierge what it comes down to it and I just hate myself. I do not have the right. No matter what, even if this time, next to me, his face, his hands, his gentle voice is unbearable past.

In certain cases prefer even the worst - just not to be ordinary, but would not do what is expected of you.

Much more reasonably still to give some character other than to acknowledge its shortcomings.

Must be that death is only a bluish mist, light falling in failure.

She talked - I listened, she advised I was no longer listening.

And to me, they [the lines] seem amazing. Do I need to stay many nights, to visit many countries and see a lot of faces to get those two tiny dash... You they go. And then they revive the person. I don't know, but, in my opinion, it is beautiful, expressive, care. I hate smooth faces.

Despair - what a strange feeling; strange and after that survive.

Experience is the sum of the mistakes, and errors, which, alas, failed to make.

You in it a little drowned.
That's right, I said, not thinking about coats.