Author of quotes: Dmitry Gorchev

Tolerance is when a person is a freak, and you talk to him as if he is normal...

I think that the universe is like me: not evil in general, but very inattentive to people.

Women, they always like first love for some stuff, and then for the same crap and loving. Yes, even when to go will lie to her that their two day sick every time they have to spend the night remained. And maybe not lie to her. And anyway, if we ever tell what they think about us, our women, then it all would have gone into homosexuals. Good thing we'll never figure it out. Because of fools. In the light of all very wisely on this account works.

I don't know, maybe there is somewhere like this Holy man, who wishes the good of humanity, it may well be that there is. If I met such a person, I would have shook his hand.

The most sad is that we all of a sudden become sure that everything is done for us.

All the really evil people, they are definitely sentimental.

Love is a wonderful feeling.
When a person is in love, this feeling captures it entirely. He could easily sell his country, his father, mother; he will steal, will kill, burn, and even he did not realize what you have done.

One evening after dinner, a Brit told me a secret.
"With the Central square of Lhasa, he said, gently breaking the knife that the hotel restaurant is called steak - every Friday at exactly six o'clock in the morning departs with a yellow bus. Remember this well yellow. He takes passengers, they are always very small, and leaves. And never come back."
"Well? - I asked stupidly. - Where's that?"
"Shambhala" - calmly replied the Briton finally managed to saw off a piece of steak.
"Why not return?" - dumber I asked.
"Because of Shambhala, no one returns, patiently explained the Briton. - Because no need."
"The bus everytime a new one?"
"Mmmm, he shook his head, finally chewed and swallowed. One and the same. He is one of only a bus. Goes only there. And never comes back. Then again going there and again coming back. Understand?"

The neighbor came over to take fifty roubles. I don't live in the first year in these parts and know very well what the item is worth fifty roubles. "Look, I said to him, - here I'll give you fifty rubles. You go in Otradnoye, negresse there's brew and freeze on the way home. And I then you dig a pit, right?"
The neighbor said, "Yes, you are right: but you dig a nobody".
Paused. In any film at this point necessarily would need to insert the dreary sound of the cello. But here, some cellos there, and no sound did not happen.

Zhytynsky sometimes likes to talk about the fact that creativity, sorry for the word Artist (singer, composer, poet, does not matter) cannot be considered in isolation from his life, or calling things by their names, death. Well, roughly speaking, the poems of Pushkin would not be worse if he was not killed in a duel, but hardly anyone would remember still, just as few remember the verse of Zhukovsky, Baratynsky or Puppeteer.
I think he's right. The reader (viewer) likes to look at the last page and learn that the author quite honestly hanged, shot or jumped naked in his cage. That is, all that he wrote, drew, sang - all of it was true. The reader is nice to know that Gogol had gone mad, and Leo Tolstoy died at an obscure station that Venya Erofeev honestly died of cancer of the throat, and Oleg Grigoriev - from cirrhosis of the liver. A true artist must die on the stage, the singer should give the latest rooster and crash down the hall, Choi had to die young, and Cobain to die by overdose, then all the truth, for real. Because it's right.

It was still an attempt, stupid and idiotic, to make the Society of Potrebleniia. But as soon as people stopped ***it, they immediately lined up behind the car, the Zhiguli and the Yugoslav wall. And this is where it all ended.

In General, stores do not need to buy anything. He stores sell one gold trolls. Great buy, bring home and it is acidic, the stitching is crooked and shows so-so.

I personally was born and raised in "the forge of internationalism", that is in Kazakhstan where exiled them all. I went there and left because it is a very good place for links, but no good place to live.

Surprisingly few people distinguish speaking from writing. <...>
However, between written and spoken language there is a huge difference. At the time of writing using special signs deposited on the surface of something, such as paper or monitor speech distributed by means of vibrations of the air. And if writing can be read and can not read, if not like, then avoid oral speech only if you can plug your ears with cotton swabs or give the source of speech in the snout, and it remains to be seen what will come of this.