Book: Love lives three years

There is a limit to pain, losing all pride.

- How in the end love lives?
I don't know. Think it's only a matter of luck. If you meet the right person, love will last forever.

Here it is, your disease: you love yourself don't know who. I think you would have coped if you had to live with it? Unlikely: you're just hot that you can't be together.

Too many memories, too much to forget, a hell of a job to erase all this from memory as great moments have to worry instead of those old.

In love, the situation becomes truly alarming when a couple goes from porn to the sophomoric. Evident very quickly: even the voices break for a few months of living together. Masculine macho man with a booming bass starts to Lisp as an infant in the lap of the mother. A femme fatale with a hoarseness in the voice turns into a syrup girl, confusing her husband with a kitten. Our love ruined tone.

We changed the vows in turn.
We broke up as well as got married: without really understanding why.

I threw the wife and was saying goodbye to himself. Throw Anna is not so bad, much harder to put an end to our history, which was fine. The same thing probably happens to a person who refused from the idea with which have been worn: disappointment and relief at the same time.

She was surprised, crying, a frightened man, in the twenty seconds I lost everything.

I am sick of all these Chicks, they're sleeping and Wake up not want to.

Alcohol is slightly bitter,
The day passed, and killed.
Seedy musician
On the bridge
My life began to play
The void.

The countdown has already begun... one day you'll get bored, I lose it, you're going to nag me that I have not covered the point in the toilet and I sit at the TV all evening until the end of the programs, and you cheat on me, as cheating now Antoine.

- Are you here?
- Looks that way.
- Why didn't you come Monday and Tuesday?
- It was raining...
- I tell you now, it seems... will give you an umbrella.

I would love to become a video recorder to high-speed mode to erase these images that haunt me.

Marriage totalitarianism continues every day to perpetuate the misery from generation to generation. We were lured into these networks in the name of contrived and well-worn principles with the sole purpose of carefully hidden again and again to increase the inheritance of grief and hypocrisy. Breaking life continues to be a favorite sport of the old French families, and they know their business tight. Adept. Yes, and today, we can equally well write: families, I hate you.