Author of quotes: Rimma Khafizova

There are those who cannot love,
Their subsistence life - hate!
Anyone - no matter what - not so...
Only a single goal - to insult, to humiliate.

Won't be good for stolen happiness
Though it will seem that the brilliant plan manufactured...
All have to pay, and suddenly -
The role itself abandoned play, and for the same notes.

There are people that are in life - even those jackals...
Servile, vile, trashy Remora.
Just waiting they make you stumble,
Hoping to scream that "Akela has missed."

She eats human, like rust,
Peace, sleep and joy denies...
Don't let the best of you to win
The evil of envy that destroys the soul.

Not even struggling for someone to understand
We all, without exception, the wandering actors.
Easy to know how the mask go on to change,
And their fate, and alien - we are on tour.

Lead cargo we carry a grudge,
Well, all it takes is the heart to give the message -
Forever to forgive offenders and the severity of the reset,
While there is time... For the clock ticking.

When your friend in the boundless ambitions,
What a disappointment to a lot of it
Do not blame. Let time judge.
Who how much - it knows better.

I don't judge "rag" in appearance
I look deep into the nature of the
Where there is no nature and rod,
Actions no verbal... Roy...
Such melt there is no reason
Soon the world will go...
And that he was born a man
The nature of the claim. Sometimes, well...

Not sure to be charmed by a man (contrary to the popular phrase) in order to subsequently disappointed in him. Yesterday, "choked with tenderness", and today, sick of indifference... the same failures Happen in the program some devices? Surges, for example... and my complicated mechanism called the "Soul" begins to STRAIN to communicate with another similar device... the Program is not just lost, she burned out.
And can not be repaired, because I do not care.

...She'll be gone and you will start to go crazy. You can hear non-existent sounds and smells: her steps in the hallway, gnashing key in the keyhole, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and another subtle, exciting scent... the smell of HER presence in your bed... Into you like a beast, going to VNIIFATS every night, reeling on his fist snot. But this memory is every day becoming weaker and weaker, and one day will disappear altogether. For on the threshold of your bachelor "den" will be the person who will reconnect you to life. In your absence there will be a mother. She habitually get cleaned up in the apartment and, once again, coolly throw in the wash your stale memory.

When he asked where I got sick, I remembered the warning that "... will hit it," and shook his head. And he suddenly took me by the shoulders and playfully blew in the region of the heart. Warm breath touched my soul, carefully enveloped her delicate veil and heart, who had hitherto been silent, softly said in response. First shyly, hesitantly, but with each blow louder, clearer and louder. It was the sound of a crumbling heart with icy crusts... It "hit" me to the heart to beating again.

There is no sense attached to people tightly. Sooner or later people get tired of each other. A vague semblance of communication some time in the air in the form of the banal "hi - bye", but the inevitable has already happened. The binder thread, which initially seemed to the ropes, burst on "time-two", which means, not destiny... Not fate to continue further communication. And the possibility of error in this case is reduced to zero. Internal intuition (scent, if you like...) on the people around you with age is magnified and becomes almost bestial. Others differ almost by smell. The period of their stay in your life came to an end. Finito. Further coexistence is impossible. The body always rejects not rooted, alien... And so, "good bye," and without further ADO. It's too much. So that's a tautology...

To admit mistakes maybe the spirit is strong,
Because flows in the blood decency as fact.
The wimp style unique
It Blizzard will catch up to cover your ass.

There are people whose soul is wide open...
They are called "holidays". They are solid comfort.
Always go through life easily and without tension,
And people of "everyday life" in the souls they envy spit.