Author of quotes: Boris L. Vasiliev. Page 2

Narrow-mindedness is a state of a person when he is a slave without noticing it. A slave of things, facilities, money, career, prosperity, habits. It ceases to be free and he produced a typically slavish worldview. He loses his "I", my opinion starts to agree, to assent to those in whom he sees the Lord.

Sometimes grief - that shaggy bear. Fell, tearing, tormented - the world will newsvideo... And roll - and nothing like you can breathe, live, act. As it was not.
And sometimes a trifle mistake. A trifle, but a trifle this that pulls that God forbid anyone.

So she left her childhood, and with it old friends. And Lisa was sad and scary, because she didn't know what replaces the child.

Liza long saw that blue beautiful sky. Gagging, I spat out the dirt and stretched, reaching for him, reaching and believing.
Above the trees floated slowly the sun rays fell on the marsh, and Lisa the last time I saw his light is warm, unbearably bright, as the promise of tomorrow. Up to the last moment believed that it will be tomorrow and for her...

She waited almost calmly, firmly believing that nothing can happen. All her upbringing had been directed to wait only happy endings: doubts about the success for her generation it was almost betrayal. She had, of course, to feel fear and uncertainty, but an inner conviction in the successful outcome was always stronger than the actual circumstances.

Took an axe (Oh, the blades are not captured on the case!), went to stones place for graves to look for. I looked, I poteryalsya - rocks alone, not get at. However, the pit was found. Cut branches, covered with the bottom's back.
- A student was, said Thinking. Is a straight a student and in school and at University.
"Yes," nodded the foreman. - Poetry reading.
And I thought to myself, this is not important. And most importantly, what could Sonya give birth to children, and those would be grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and now will not have this strings. Tiny strings in an endless yarn of humanity, cut with a knife...

She wanted to scream to the world, but she still did not dare to do so and told respiratroy her secret only friend the cat, who had extensive experience in the Dating industry.

There was that mysterious moment when one event into another, when reason is replaced by the result when it comes case. In ordinary life people never notice it, but in war, where the nerves are stretched to the limit, where the first life cut out the primitive meaning of existence is to survive, a minute is this real, physically tangible and forever.

- Well, what you really are! My mother is a health worker...
- No mom. The war is, the Germans are, I am, Sergeant Vaskov. But mom's not. Mom those are, you survive. I speak clearly?

Something ruptured in her, some kind of string. And the pain of that broken string was all grown up and sad and hopeless. She was older than most of the Sparks, this new the pain.

No, the spark was afraid not of the funeral she was afraid of first date with death. Afraid of the moment when you see a dead Vic, I was afraid not to stand this, that fall or - even worse - to cry. To cry to cry, to howl, because this cry, this howling muffled tossed it all these days.

All in the past, because the past is firmly entrenched in their present.

The youth is always a struggle of desire with fear.

If you want to know the greatest happiness - to feel that love you. Not know, and feel, so what is the head? Here and throw out her stupidity and do your hair.