Book: The inner side of the wind

He was half of something. Strong, beautiful and talented half of something that might have been even stronger, larger and better looking. So he was the magical one-half of something magnificent and mysterious. And she was a perfect whole. Small, undecided, not very strong or harmonious whole, but whole.

... love is like a bird in a cage: if not feed every day, it will die.

When we have something slipped my mind, when we forget, then remember it's so hard forgotten that the void which expanded at the expense of our memory, violates the true size of and the ratio behind the veil of our forgetfulness it changes, grows and coarsens. And when we finally manage to remember the forgotten and thrown out of my head, we disappointedly convinced that it was not worth the labor we spent on the recall.

... the action should correspond to the force that it takes, and if this ratio is not, should not even start a job.

Look at these nodes and nodules, they are adapted so that the rope itself is holding its own tail and does not allow the knot to come loose. No matter how pull, he will not give in because to himself makes an effort. So it is with people. Their way connected with such nodes that they remain relative to each other apparent tranquility and inviolability of borders, but in fact stretched to the limit, as the nodes of the network when its full of fish, pulled out of the water. Because each does what it should, not what he would want.

People like marine compass: turns around and sees all four sides of the world, however, what is happening above and below, remains hidden, it is not available. But that's what I want to know is what are interested in: love from below and death above.

... but we are given the extraordinary marble: hours, days and years; a dream of wine is the solution.

- Man thinks that dying is easy. Lay down and died. But it's not easy.
All that behind us and before us, lasts much longer than we assume.

I feel like a medium. I'm always late, always come after Tuesday.

A person can always the ear to distinguish what tree rustles in the night - spruce or sycamore.

Human life is a strange race: the goal is not the end of the path, and somewhere in the middle, and you run, run, maybe for a long time already ran past, yeah I don't know, I didn't notice when it happened. Never know. Therefore carry on walking.

If such a cry in July, the crying will be heard in August.

Take unawares the person and see the animal.

Even if you do newevery and not fear that crossed the road a black cat, you never know exactly whether this very superstitious black cat...