Author of quotes: Sergey Zhadan

Something was, that you don't see fucking, not artificial substitutes, because after prokonopacheny a couple of hours in caustic mixtures and solutions, once directly under your fingers will show through the face of your friends and buddies, you begin to understand that life is a little more complicated Chinese goods and that all the us crap, it seems like the broiler white-toothed surfers or Kooks scouts who never know what the Komsomol and decay, - all this advertising chaos just resting next to a stimulating, exhilarating odor of a Soviet paper.

Corporation - like alcoholics anonymous, it is not a cure, but you have to understand: not alone you are so screwed.

It is the joy of collective work helps you get out of another depression, and, once out, you look out the office window at the autumn trees, their vertical drawn deep lines and suddenly realize that once again autumn came, and slowly warming air, and the trees are so strict and austere; you look at all this and melancholically think that in this office work well, such a good fall and I think these trees are well to hang himself.

How many times, watching all of this, I thought: well, all right, they should be okay, they look good together, they make a nice couple, they will have beautiful children, and if children will not suffer from it no one will be the main thing - to trust each other, not close, like heavyweights in the ring, were able to talk about the obvious things, about their secret desires, even if these desires are reduced to one, and the way it usually happens.
But time passes, and repeats the same thing:
pause in the conversation, the tension in conversations, moral principles that appear nowhere and then disappear to who knows where,
as usual - they sit in the same room on different sides of the same bed and doing up on the skin deep painful cuts, comparing whose cuts deeper and harder.
Then wearily leave, long healing your incisions, at any cost trying to heal, so that there is not the slightest trace, and if there are after, except in the subway car, moving, as before, in the same direction.

We're obliged to see out the end of the session, at least for the fact that after all the credits, after all the names and thank yous, after all the Lord mutati, after a year of release and release date to read, however, that during the filming of this blockbuster nobody was hurt.

I actually don't like many things, but I'm not picky, on the contrary, quite well adapted to many not too pleasant circumstances, but here it's not about me, it's about the fact that all the time, meet so many human faces that just can not help but worry, not to worry about them.
Perhaps that is why is so important to me, even if it sounds like a bluff, the faces of my friends, my old friends, faces that I had seen for so many years and which, if desired, can now easily remember - calm, happy and smiling.
Are what are usually from the dead.

We basically have to communicate with the kooky inhabitants of our wonderful planet, with startling monsters, and I have to admit, it's interesting with them, I hope they with me too.

Cool we were in life, and another thing, what shit it has become.
All you have to pay, so we probably pay for that crazy era of the current stupor.
It is not true that times change, and how we fifteen saw angels on the tops of Voroshilovgrad heaps, returning from away matches of our favorite team, we felt how cold nipples harden diamonds thirty women that drunk allowed himself to be touched, although usually nothing good is not over, except, of course, Masturbation we spent on your feet for several days, moving from Dorm to Dorm, from cellar to cellar, with a stop at a stop breathing in the warm dust, the roadside is green and bitter smell of cotton candy at the bus station.
For this I am willing to pay, even though I have nothing.

People often do not trust each other, for unknown reasons, they just turn away from each other at the right time and calmly fall asleep to color in the dark to watch your nightmares.
Trust forces you to give up personal view of dreams, trust, generally, an insidious thing, it opens you like a dirty magazine on the wrong page, now try to explain what you meant.
In such cases, the trust becomes burdensome, and your neighbors remove you from my life, like the stitches from the surgery.

When people have so much to tell each other, they usually keep quiet.
Because in such cases any attempt about something to talk inevitably turns to autopsy with subsequent attempts to hide the body somewhere far away.

Our routes, where we were accidentally stopping has been our great guide at the time we're fighting ourselves, strike each other blows with sharp objects and hold each other fresh wounds, so our blood could mix and penetrate from the artery into the artery, and when the blood congeals, as the street trade in the evening, we suddenly forget all this, forget his blood and the traces of his love and that all that is possible to find an explanation, but it turns out that the explanation nobody needs neither you nor I, so tomorrow you will again fight back from me and throw me in the heart of forks and kitchen knives, you'll be out of here like I have, and I will sit among your things and a long time to sort through, trying to find every traces of your love.

Your whole life is a struggle with the system. And you deal with it, and she even pays any attention. It is, as soon as you stop her on the street and begin to give straight into the eyes of what I think, defiantly turns to a random passerby and asks what time it is, quenching your whole pathos and leaving you alone with your protests.

What is remarkable about all stories about love? Perhaps because when people are truly in love, draw the help he needs. He does not need favorable conditions, it still, what are the circumstances, developments favorable to him whether the saints, favourably if the stars and planets in love with the man is overcome with passion, he is guided solely by his inner madness
it forward his heart, his soul, his internal organs, they do not give him no rest, give rest, exhausting daily an unquenchable thirst deep as an artesian well, black as crude oil,
sweet as death in your sleep at five in the morning in the old Volkswagen on the Polish-German border.

Why go to a place where no one waiting for you? Why run away from those who love you? If you can't stand up for yourself and your family, what gives you the right to complain about fate? Did you try to do something before I finally surrendered and lowered his hands? As you look into the eyes of those who have gone before you and who now hopes on you? You will answer the question of those who come in your footsteps? Because life happens to you every day. And love justifies all the mistakes and attempts.