Author of quotes: Dmitry Glukhovsky

The TV has two purposes: to drown out and fill the void.

By sobriety, death is too incomprehensible. She, like love, only drunk real seems.

There is no point in protecting money: time washes them out of your hands on a grain of sand anyway. And there is no tomorrow for which it would be worth saving them. Life is always cut short today.

After all, all human life, in fact, is a slow dying. It is not even we who are dying - the world around us gradually fades. In the first years of our life, and it is in its prime. (Isn't that why childhood memories are so vivid?) We are surrounded by close creatures - father, mother, grandmothers, grandfathers, friends from kindergarten and school come for them, first love blossoms. These are the cornerstones on which the small universe of each of us is based. In childhood and adolescence, it is completely real and tangible, while all people dear to us are with us among the living. With each of them we are connected by myriads of the finest threads: common thoughts, shared vacations, light, dizzy novels, an outstretched hand. Weaving together memories and experiences, these people weave the silk yarn of our reality, our world, our life.
But the years go by, and they - one by one - leave us, turn into ethereal ghosts and find their last refuge in our memories. Trying to make our native voice sound even for a fraction of a second in our head, trying to return from oblivion the charm of their smile, we can spend hours in vain looking at their photographs. The pain of losing a loved one cannot be overcome; only time dulls it.
And with each new death, our Universe is shifting more and more into another dimension - into the plane of our fantasies, the plane of our memory. It goes into the past, we live less and less for today, and more and more immerse ourselves in yesterday, which is indistinctly and vaguely imprinted in our consciousness.
The first to leave are grandmothers and grandfathers, the dog that was with us while we were growing up dies, and our childhood dies with them. Their death is a milestone: after it, the so-called maturity begins.
Then it is the turn of the parents; when they leave us, it will mean that adulthood is over, and we froze on the threshold of old age. And then one of the long-gray school friends or the toothless, but with the same enthusiasm of the university comrades who were smiling at us, dies; finally, a husband or wife.
This is the last sign: it's time for us to prepare too. Because our whole world, like a dying huge ocean liner, is plunging into the abyss of the past. Dark waters will drop by drop fill the cabins of memories, inhabited by the images of colleagues, army colleagues, phantoms of fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters ... They will rush into luxurious banquet halls, where we celebrated our little triumphs: successfully passed school exams, hard-won admission to the university, love victories, weddings and births of children, expected job promotions for years. The holds, where the black hours of our life are dumped, will also be flooded: we would like to batten them down tightly, but memory gapes with cracks, the edges of which will never converge.
[…]
... When the waves of oblivion reach the captain's bridge and lick our feet, it will only be necessary to salute with dignity for the last time and silently close our eyes. And then we, in turn, will become the borderline that will mark the end of childhood for our grandchildren and the beginning of old age for our children.

The body is earthly, it is just biology and chemistry, but a person, after all, is much more. When the spirit is sick, then the body rots. And when a person cleanses his spirit, then the body is almost resurrected.

On the rainbow passenger maps, it is known that even a third of the entire metro, the real one, was not marked. Why confuse people? He rushed from one marble station to another, buried himself in the phone, jumped an hour ahead - everyone arrived. I didn’t have time to think about what depths I had visited. And to ask: what is there, behind the walls of the stations, where do the barred branches from the tunnels lead? It's good that I didn't have time. Look at the phone, think about your important things, don't poke your nose where you shouldn't.

I stir with a long stick long-extinguished coals, lift the pieces of iron. I think I've already screened all of this godforsaken field, and so nothing was discovered, just went to work the second time. And then the third.
What I'm looking for?
Green sprout? Or at least a bone of another creature that wanted me - a lone boy to take to adopt? Or the shadow of the trees that grew there on the day when my mom took me to walk to the Botanical garden? Forgiveness? Hope?
Soot and coals. Coal and soot.

Was zero. The water turned into ice and ice into water. From the zero air fear went away but instead began to accumulate drop by drop frostbitten anger. What with Illya all right? Why is life in the corner was in the corner ends? Why is he powerless against the world? Where is the justice that he from punishment can not get away? Why is to kill a man - it turns out, and forgive - no? Why is everyone in the hands of Crookshanks? Why, but to lay hands on yourself, there is no other escape, and suicide is in hell? Well, you're a God or the owner of a slaughterhouse?! To endure. His head hiding in his hands, his neck retracting into her shoulders. On the area - not stand out, not to argue, not to argue. Gave the broom - revenge. Said to turn away; to turn away. With God to agree on the fact that the godfathers knock is not made. Thieves to get around. The guard around. In the eye not to look. Wait for freedom. Yes, where is she?!

Like all correctly made, and still in hell. Life on earth is so organized that all the people bound to hell got. Especially in Russia.

But she's not mad at me, but only stroking the head, stroking - and the poison comes out through my eyes, through my mouth, and I free, and breathe easy, and be weightless, as if my lungs were full of tears and couldn't breathe...

She had just scooped me fly a small spoon, scoop up and pee, so I don't overflow. But she instead puts me in both hands. And thick black goo splashes out over the sides. And rising from the bottom of something... the Forgotten, terrible.

Head seems to be pulled all the gray matter, and instead pumped back thick sea water and run fish. Now my goal is not to break the fucking aquarium.

Tabla is a trend. Choose any taste. The pill of happiness, serenity, sense... Our earth rests on three elephants, those on the shell of a giant turtle, the turtle on the back of unimaginable size of the whale, and they are all on tablets.

It wasn't overthrown, he fled shave off my beard and dressed in a dress and now walking around among us, lives in Cuba two and two together and repaet antidepressants for Breakfast.