Book: Three aspects of female hysteria

My eyes are empty without its beauty.

Very early I began to worry about the volatility of male adolescence. I'm sixteen, he was twenty two, and four years later he already abdomen. I'm twenty-one, he thirty takes a couple of years, and instead of the Prince's bald, puffy, lazy man. I'm twenty-four, he was nineteen, but the heroin makes him a wreck right before my eyes. Began to feel that these flowers wither in my hands, crumble to dust or rot will spread.

But on the other hand, the hour of the tiger, the darkest before the dawn, when, if not now?

God, I love how you say "Yes", so quietly and decisively, as if some cross the line and the edge of the world ready. And most importantly, is your "Yes" means nothing - I know she is...

As for experience, it is enough to be a fool, but a grown-up jerk.

Beautiful... Beautiful enough that it's head I'd keep himself on his knees, even if it were severed.

Well, I have had small, evil, stupid heart was only enough for one man, and there is no one more did not fit, nor my family, nor friends, nor lovers.

Here it is, the body, without which there is no me. Every night I fall asleep on your hand - imagine your hand and fall asleep with her cheek. This crack on my finger, believe it or not, I kissed the day before yesterday before going to sleep. And yesterday - no, yesterday I was not able to sleep because you called me, I heard you called.

I have constant stress and no relaxation, because the real samurai suffer from sex, alcohol and drugs, but alcohol disgusts me, on drugs, in no time, and not a Royal thing - to fuck anybody just for the sake of health.

It is very strange. I always doubted the existence of femme Fatales, but here it is - Yes, fatal, but not in the sense of spoiling, but in terms of the art of seduction.

But the main thing, the main thing for me with him was interesting. Best toy, best teacher, best lover, my only friend.

Not many things cause me grief, but small animals, doomed the people to an agonizing death, one of them. Short, sharp, memorable mount.

This city, which I so rarely come back, again, contrived and stuck an awl in my heart through all I managed to reconcile in life, through the jacket, sweater and chest.

A month... this unit, which I believe time. Hours and minutes are unreliable, then they fly, the stretch, the days too fast, weeks artificial, but a year is a long time for me. But a month at the time, I have time and can feel him, from the first to the last day, with its melting and rising moon, rent, monthly, with the change of weather from beginning to end. Months and moments. The most beautiful names APR, Aug and Feb and the most uncomfortable - November. However, just "looking" is hard to pronounce.