Book: Mahogany Man

Loneliness is a familiar state for me, but it is impossible to love it. If you are given reason, larynx, tongue and speech, if you are given eyebrows to frown, and lips that can be spread in a smile, you must go to your own kind, talk to them, laugh, scream, smell smells, touch. People, these amazing...

Even in the tightest crowd, every person is special. Everyone has their own secret; each is fighting his own war, of which others know nothing.

Strong women usually give birth to daughters, join the ranks of the soldiers of the female army.

Everyone has days when he is ready to open his soul to even a close friend, even an acquaintance, even a fellow countryman. Man is a deep being, but not bottomless: when he accumulates, he must pour out in order to make room for something new.

Without sinning, you will not become a human being. Without sinning, you cannot give birth to a new life.

All people in the spring smoke like earth, all evaporate the old rotten water accumulated during the winter.

It's better to never take pictures with either celebrities or superiors, ”I said. “This is bad for your spirit. This belittles him. Feeds your vanity

And in the evening I pray for a long time, I bow down, I bang my forehead on the floor. That helps. The Spirit gradually humbles itself; humility is grace, it heals.

Time heals from everything, washes out any pain, this is its priceless property.

The war will end when the bosses will. The war will end when majors become colonels and colonels become generals. When they all get glory and orders. And how many soldiers' lives will have to be laid - they think little about that.

In killing, I was a man. A thinking beast. Fanged, growling, ruthless, he jumped out of the man, did a terrible thing, and then hid back as if he had never existed. And then the man hid, and again I became a solid wood monster.

What is memory? By the will of the Creator, many billions were born - but the memory remained of a few. Who knows what amazing creatures were born in distant times? Maybe before us, wooden people, lived stone people, and before the stone - people who do not have a material appearance, and even earlier - people who are not sure that they are people. Who remembers them? Oral memory keeps the history of about a hundred years: from grandfather to grandson, then the grandson gradually forgets what his grandfather said. Written memory keeps history from five hundred to a thousand years; but any, the most reliable and respected written source, - one day suddenly subjected to harsh criticism, disputed, recognized as insignificant. The past is as fluid as the future. Only the present moment is unshakable: today's moment, now flowing, elusive and terrible in its fleeting.