Book: Vita Nostra

The world as you see it does not exist. How you imagine it - does not exist at all. Some things seem obvious to you, but they simply are not.

And, finding them, all Sasha could feel that to her many times to understand the other. The merits don't care what someone likes. And that she loves someone. And she had a child, and she splashed in the sea; and she had on an old knitted sweater embroidered with reindeer. There were many, someone favorite, worn in the pocket of a shell or a button or a black and white photo; no one saved anyone's memories, no one defended the words and oaths, and those who loved, died too.

All the people were someone sometime spoken aloud.

She felt like a blimp, full of soap bubbles. Bubbles - her unspoken words - rose to her throat and climbed out, hanging on the language as unskilled jumpers on the trampoline. And burst, leaving a bitter aftertaste. No word was strong enough to overcome the barrier, to break free and fly.

Love is not the one who excites, and what is terrible.

To live means to be vulnerable. To love is to be afraid. And who is not afraid - he is extremely calm and cannot love.

There are words - chaff, the garbage, and they turn into nothing, barely sounded. Other cast shadows, ugly, and pathetic, and sometimes beautiful and powerful, able to save the lost. But only some of these words are people and also speak words. And everyone in the world has a chance to meet the one whom he himself once said out loud...

Happiness is what he feels anyone that is matched to its purpose.

Every person is a word, just the word. And other punctuation.