Author of quotes: Catherine Nikolayeva

And go hang me in the field,
Better so, than live forever in captivity.
Better to die than not to see dawn,
Do not breathe the freedom of life, wind.

I wander among the walls, harsh,
Looking into the distance is unreachable
And not among the moments - new
And the time flows past.

There are moments of sorrow, moments of peace and moments of madness. Minutes lasting an eternity, and minutes passing unnoticed. They are all the time, vast space, hardly ever able to obtain the exact definition in our lives.

It happens that very good...

Who knows that the first thing you should do scout, is sent into the besieged city?
To get into the city?
- Wrong! A scout, sent into enemy besieged the city, the first thing I should QUIETLY sneak into the city!.

Because by itself, it becomes special among the special, which was too much for its features... and they have ceased to be such.

- What is it? We... and die?
- OKS, a friend, even tried.
- In its death throes.

... People really seemed to her the most that neither is the simplest creatures, the most incredibly complex...

Don't ask and I won't have to lie.

Aldara curiously looked at me and waved his hand saying, first. I made a skeptical grimace, saying, teacher, I'm not suicidal! The drow frowned: but if I kill you? I threw crayfish: what's the difference?

I love the night. I love the storm and the mud wall of rushing in the face. The horse, again, who has a broken leg and is left behind, branches whipping fiercely in the face during the run, the road, the finder of me and swirling in an endless stream of mud, the wind is merciless, tossing wet hair in the face...

I said that I love nature? Night? The wind in the grass? The leaves in the trees? The road on the ground and quiet, the light of heaven?
Yes? Yes. Yes!
But I didn't say anything about horses, hours ago who has a broken leg, dark thunderclouds, pouring liquid mud, prickly bushes with poisonous flowers, sharply cutting the grass, clinging to legs, no cloak (I forgot!), wet strands of hair that I will tonsure, becoming a magician, strands, climbing into the eyes, nose and mouth, the long-buried pieces of shirts and half of the left leg, remaining undetected by my eye the ravine, about a hungry wolf, stasiukem my latest cake and, in the end, about the ELF WITH the ROAD AND ITS COMPANION the MAGICIAN-the ALCHEMIST!!!

There is a well known reflex run - chase.

Large cities are tightened.