Book: Beautiful. Bad. Evil.

She wondered so often what had become of him. How that guy who was always a boor, too arrogant, but still just a man, turned into a hardened bathyscaphe, surrounded by darkness. And here it is, the answer. So logical and simple in its essence. Mother.

You know this rule: children are always more important than parents. Is always.

You have no idea what a pain it is not to be able to save your child. And I won't let you feel it. Because it's worse than death.

"Then why do we remember them?"

He smelled of whiskey. Whiskey and grief, and this is the most dangerous mixture.

When you become a witness to something, you become a direct part of it.

And it was the most disgusting kind of malice - hopelessness.

I wonder how many people didn't do what they talked about years ago because of the war?

No strictness had the right to act if the one who spoke it was absolutely helpless.

Loyalty is more important than blood.

Life has done this so often: mocking, making you suffer, but only then to drop a bomb that will create a crater, showing that everything that you worried about yesterday will simply cease to exist, covered with ash from the explosion.

Something like a hackneyed phrase that life is movement. But no. Life is an exploration, a journey too extraordinary to be abandoned so quickly.

And everything in her screamed: "Run, you idiot, run." And she ran. Just not in that direction.

Yes, hatred is definitely one of the most dangerous feelings.