Book: Three men in a boat, not counting the dog. Page 2

If you have never experienced anything new, how do you know it is good or bad?

They scolded us not the usual harmless expletives, and long, carefully thought out, comprehensive curses, that embraced the whole of our life journey, taken away into the distant future and touched all our loved anything that had to do with us. It was a good, substantial curses.

We in our time do not realize the charm of this dog. We are too accustomed to it. She is like the sunset and the stars: the beauty does not strike us, because our eyes have long looked to her.

For morning Breakfast we will need a frying pan (Harris said it is poorly digested, but we asked him not to be an ass, and George went on).

Earthly life is just a test, and, just as sparks are destined to fly upwards, so man is doomed to adversity.

Such is life, and we are all but grass, which cut off, put in the oven and burn.

People with land soft and mild character, become violent and bloodthirsty, once fall into the boat.

You will never be able to tear Harris from the prose of life. There is no rush, no instinctive longing for an unattainable ideal. Harris is not able to "cry, not knowing what". If the eyes of Harrys tears, you can safely bet that he just ate raw onions or his chop too thickly smeared with mustard.

Night, as a loving mother, puts his hand on our hot forehead, turns to his tear-stained little face and smiling... She is silent, but we know what she feels for us, pressed against her, and cease our little mountain.

But we gained experience, and for experience, as they say, no matter how much you pay, do not overpay.

Our world is a Vale of sorrows, and man is made to suffer as the sun is to Shine.

We, the people, the children of the sun. We love light and life. That's why we're crowding together in cities, and in villages from year to year is becoming maloletnie. In the afternoon, under the sunlight, when we are surrounded by a living and active nature, we love green meadows and dense oak forests. But in the darkness of night, when falling asleep, our mother earth, and we awake, Oh, what a dull universe appears to us, and we become afraid like children in an empty house. And then to my throat come the sobs, and we miss the lantern-lit streets, human voices, by the intense pulse of human life. We feel so weak and insignificant in the face of the great silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the gusts of night wind. Around us the ghosts, and their suppressed sighs-sad-sad. No, I'm going to get together in big cities, to arrange the illumination with the help of millions of gas jets, shouting and singing in unison, and to consider themselves heroes.

Or, for example, girls and fans. Ladies, who have claim that do not need them. They say that they would prefer to do without them that the young people they are tired. Why don't they make love for miss Smith or miss brown, who are old and ill and don't have fans? Them fans are not needed. They are not going to get married.

Not good all the time to go with the flow. Much more fun straining your back, fight with him, to go forward in spite of him - at least I think so, when Harris George row, and I rule the wheel.