Author of quotes: Henry Bell

A creative person is simply unable not to do what he does: either to paint, or to speak in towns and villages like a clown or singing or carving of marble and granite "enduring values". The artist is like a woman who can't give up on love and becomes the prey of the first counter monkey male. Artists and women - the most suitable objects for exploitation, and each Manager has something pimp - from one to ninety-nine percent.

Judging by its irrepressible sob, it had a lot of sentimentality.

I dug a ditch through his beloved grandfather's picture rose, right on marble copy of the Apollo Belvedere, and have rejoiced in that moment when the statue collapses zemleprokhodtsy from my efforts, but it was early to celebrate: a statue dumped me, and a little freckled boy named George - he accidentally blew up himself and Apollo bazookas. Herbert Kalik commented on this incident very succinctly: - fortunately, Georg was an orphan!

I blushed. I was embarrassed, I remembered that I never sent flowers to Marie. Of course, I gave her all the flowers that I presented at performances, but I've never bought flowers for her, and for the bouquets that were presented to me, too, usually had to pay for it yourself.

To kill aesthetes, of course, is best expensive items of art below, emitting a spirit, they resented this sacrilege.

I'll kill you, will escrow, izrazu you to pieces with their weapons, and this terrible weapon is my smile, which is not worth anything to me, simple movement of muscles, the mechanism which is easy to set in motion. I have more ammunition than your gun, and they cost me as little as you need yours.

Convict! This will kill the look and not blink.

And before the eyes of the dirty Board, the border of your world.

He looked, seemed, far, far in the distance, perhaps into the past.

Think of the clown: he's crying in the bathroom and spills coffee over his flip-flops.

And again, the future seemed more real than the present, which is hardly to happen, immersed in a dark oblivion...

With unspeakable bitterness he thought about Ilona: she passed away, left him in the lurch, she died, well, to die is simple. Her place was beside him, and for a moment it seemed to him that she could stay alive, if he wanted to. But she realized that it is better not to zazevalsya in the world, that we should not live for brief moments of earthly love, when there is another, eternal love. Yes, she learned a lot, much more than him, and he felt abandoned, deceived, knowing I'd come home, will live without her, will read, work a little and pray to God to comfort, no, he would not beg God that God can't give, can't because he loves people.

He began to pray, but caught myself on the fact that almost mechanically repeats the words of the prayer, although it expects nothing from God. Ilona was dead, what did he pray? But he continued to pray for her return from an unknown place and on your safe return, though he was already almost home. Neither did he believe these people - they all begged something, and Ilona told him, "you must Pray the Lord to comfort," she somewhere read these words and was in awe of them. Standing here with folded palms, he suddenly realized that now he prays from the heart, because to beg God he had nothing. Now he and the Church will be able to go though the faces of most priests and their sermons unbearable to him. But we have to comfort God, who is forced to look at the faces of his Ministers and listen to their sermons.

Platoon fire, which Berchem got the role of the observer received only seven shells a day for one gun; the shells of these it was necessary to spend, otherwise they altogether ceased to give, but with seven rounds, there was nothing to think about duel with the Americans entrenched in Heidesheim. To shoot them was even banned, because for every shot the Americans responded heavy fire, they were very irritable.