Book: From Notepad in wine stains

The writer makes the pain? The pain does nothing, the poverty too. The first thing is the artist. What happens to him depends on his luck. If luck shines (in the worldly sense), he becomes a bad artist. If not Shine a good.

The stronger the person, the more lonely he will be is mathematics.

All of me - the Saga of a certain kind of person: fuzzy blackness, impractical meditations and repressed desires.

But the whole damn world is such a phony.

- You have a job? - constantly asked me when I knocked them.
- Still! I replied, having in mind that my job is to stay alive, and the job is lousy.

But in General the era that I find it boring, obscene or neutered, as the slaughter of old ox to half-baked steak. People rotten and sprouted in amphigenous the cloaca and out of her unwilling.

The idea that suffering is the lot of a gifted, noble and prudent, sensitive, bold and creative - high pile of shit of them all.

The longer a person is dead, the more we tend to distort its strengths and weaknesses: he doesn't answer, but because we judged boldly.

I do not impose the hand to write the lie for the sake of creating another verse.

Buy only valuable - no trinkets, no nothing. Everything you have must fit in one suitcase; then your mind will find freedom.

The transfer of power is not a means. Power to the people - not a cure. The authorities in General - not a panacea.