Book: The extraordinary adventures of Julio Hornito

Killing is an unpleasant necessity. Very dirty job, without shouting and without fires. I don't think the surgeon, getting your fingers in the abdomen inflated with gas and undigested food, is experiencing pleasure. But there is no choice. I, my family, my city, the birthplace of humanity is steps. To kill for the good of mankind, one lunatic or ten million - the only difference is arithmetic. And to kill is necessary, not all will continue the stupid, pointless lives. Is killed another will just grow.

War is the hatred of the people for the people, and by the way, none of the preachers of the brotherhood, no book writers, no travel, no migration had to bring together, to solder, to demolish the boundaries, as these years in the trenches. Again, the prank war, everything went topsy-turvy. It turned out that hate, admire, coward, prick, suffer in the trenches, wheezing, Pomona, rotting away all the French, Germans, Russians, Englishmen up to the awesomeness of the same. We sat off to the side, noticed.

After reading for the tenth time "Crime and punishment" and remembering his Negro, he resolved to suffer to atone. Raskolnikov's example pointed the way, and one morning Alexey Spiridonovich, coming to the area Opera, fell on the sidewalk near the entrance to the subway and yelled "Knit me! Judge me! I killed a man!" Quickly run up the police officer asked where they committed crimes. When Alexey Spiridonovich explained that he killed a black man during the uprising, the police, instead of his associate, was immediately welcoming, picked it up, slapped a friend on the shoulder and said "You are a good and brave soldier, just do not be the morning to drink a lot!" So unfortunate attempt ended our friend to follow in the footsteps of the heroes of Russian literature.

Poor artisans, they rave about the car, endeavoring to transmit its shape in the plastic, its clanging and crashing in the afternoon, not wanting to think about what's under these wheels, they are destined to die. The machine requires no court painters, not poets kurtizanok, but the transformation of living flesh in the wheel, nuts, screws. Have to die freedom and individuality, and the way, in the name of mechanization of all of life.

Poor dog! The poor poet! You could honestly do their job, peacefully to write poetry! But like you anything but work! First, you "the prophet", second, "madman", third, "a misunderstood leader." "Kanis vulgaris"! When a surgeon cuts the stomach, when the tailor cuts jacket, when a mathematician studies a laws - they work. And when you're sweating over a piece of paper, for the hundredth time, crossing out the word, knocking over the strong verse - you "do"! And nerds around the cage exploring your insides: where is the angel inserted the "burning coal", which "Muse" yesterday, slept with you, and come down to whether you on this occasion, "inspiration" or they're not.

Art solder of individuals in close cell national, religious, social and collaborative love or hate, to work or to fight - in short, for life.

When people bring to marriage, then examine all in addition, which, in essence, reduce them. Find out what the bride's dowry and you have a lot of silver spoons her as the groom and is there a chance to increase his salary if he loves to play bridge or not, if she knew how to cook a pate from the liver, good if they have heart, healthy lungs, whether they know foreign languages and so on. After learning, are not in the office, not a charity, not for the exam Philology, and a comfortable bed, modestly downcast eyes, and then very surprised to statistics, "accidents of marriage".