Book: The thirteenth tale. Page 2

Finally I can cry.
However, it is not possible. My love so long pent up tears petrified.
Now they will stay with me forever.

Mom used to grind a smile and chattered excitedly over tea, jumping from topic to topic... Easy idle chatter as a means of salvation from the silence.

Every old house has its legends and its ghosts.

We walked on two continents, very slowly but surely removed from each other..

... For me there is no better way ahead of time to learn something about the person than the opportunity to assess his literary preferences and the manner of handling books.

True, already too heavy, to Supplement her weight another idle curiosity.

... How tiring it is to listen to a detailed explanation of things you know as well as the speaker.

I have nothing against truth-seekers, although the sides of them worse, especially when they start so dear to their heart the arguments about truth and lies.

I didn't tell him the truth. How is it possible? I gave him another story. Skinny, pathetic, anemic tale without striking details and graceful turns: faded shreds, and sour cream on the live thread, with frayed, uneven edges. One of those stories that are so similar to real life. More precisely, what seems to people in real life, and it's not the same thing. Man of my warehouse, endowed with a lively imagination, it is not easy to write stories like this.

Writing is just a way to kill time when main is over.

Emotions have a smell or taste; perhaps they are passed from person to person by means of some special waves.

To achieve any meaningful goal, we need to abstract from extraneous detail.

Imagination is a healthy thing, without it would not have been many great discoveries and inventions, but we must be able to rein him in and send for a serious purpose. If to give vent to the imagination, it can lead you into the impenetrable jungle of stupidity.

... children are capable of the most unexpected cruelty. We just don't want them to notice.