Book: Clay bridge

About how the years climbed up the hill, I can tell you this.
Each had their own life.

How cruel the twists of fate.

When I observe how a man dies, see not only his disappearance.

It seems to me, to see how a man dies, it is like learning a foreign language, a whole new science. Build a tower of boxes with medicine, I think pills, you measure the poisonous liquid. Then translate minutes to hours in the hospital and learn how long the longest night.

To use the life [after death] they were ashamed.
Especially happy oblivion.

...That we keep them to ourselves, we all carefully hide from parents.

...Patience is not to be confused with softness, and the precaution - with the slowness.

It was a great horse... And perfect fate: we would not love him so if he hadn't died.

- What's wrong with you? Why are you so...
- What is this? Well, what?
Fucked up.
Slang of the young in any country.
The words between them like a wound.

Hardest - most quiet words.

- All right, said clay. - Already subsided...
But clay better than anyone knew that there are things that never go away.

...This was the beauty of Carey, her true beauty: what's brown hair and sea glass - she wasn't afraid to risk a second time. She will once again try their luck, for him.

I was ready to die, if only ever to reach such heights, like David, at least for a moment.
He looked into the eyes of the boys across the street.
But I know, I know...
Clay answered.
His words hurt them both, but he had to say them.
- We live the lives of Slaves.

Miss penny was hard.
But at least we knew what to do with it: the beauty of death - it is final.