Author of quotes: Simon Vrochek

Enemies in General need to cherish, not forgetting from time to time to destroy. The enemies will make you a quick and clever man, did not miss any of your mistakes or weaknesses.

The sea after the Disaster, all a mystery. All the World's oceans is one big fucking mystery. What's in this broth of life, cooked?

Have fun, and then fall into a maelstrom of doubt.

We men are not so attached to formal symbols. For us, a ring on your finger? We know when a woman is ours. Or not ours. The ring has nothing to do with it. This is purely a woman thing.

She smells of trouble. She smells like life, purity and rage. It smells of youth, long legs under her dress, stepping on the ground is elastic and gentle.
She passes by me, I again feel the smell. The smell of wet water and anxiety. The smell of trouble.
It smells of youth, wet grass and laughing into the night. It smells gray-eyed gaze, burning insides. She smells like rose petals.
She smells of trouble.
When she leaves, I can still feel the scent. You can smell trouble.

What is the tribulation? Now I can answer. Grief is like a very large sheet of gilded copper. One of those that you take for covering ship's bottoms. A huge sheet. And he's so... awkward, or what? Boomy. Bulky. Like or take it all uncomfortable. Or fingers cut or drop... And this sheet nor take properly, neither the intercept. You pick it up, hold. He breaks down and corner to the throat.

- Brother?
- Brother, confirmed by Uber.
- I'm black, have you forgotten? said ***La, tried to get up.
Skinhead gently put it back.
- Yes, what you're black! Oberfuhrer angrily waved his hand. Pulled bandages and gauze from my bag, started to pull out rubber harness. - No you're fucking not black...
Really? - surprised ***La. - What's that?
- Tan... damn. And then slightly. And the man man.
- That's because... - ***La smiled weakly. The pale face in the eyes of the lost paint. - Undecided you, Uber... Neues... - he gasped. - Unstable...

I thought we'd find something that becomes for us the last hope. For us, for mankind... something... don't know what! But it was sitting there just a crazy old man, warming to nuclear reactor kettle. Don't you think it's just a metaphor for all of humanity? We humans have always done, nothing hidden.

The streets of the Holy city watched the descendants with approval.

Beat with fists a pillow and buried her face in it. Suddenly he was covered with cold chills. Suddenly I'll Wake up and they are not? - Ivan thought, but stubbornly continued to lie face to the rough fabric stuffy, smelling of old sweat.
- What is it? asked the voice of uber.
And he has always been such - Toed loudly yawned. - Do not pay attention. But this heard?
- Great song.
- Here. Next you look... yeah, here.
Music lovers, your mother, Ivan thought, smiling against my will. Pillow somehow became wet. Smelt of damp and comfort.

Freedom is not a choice between an AK and a rifle. Freedom is not a choice, whether to take a gun with his left hand or right... It's all nonsense, trivia, not worthy of attention. Real freedom is when you are holding a gun at the person and decide to live or die.
Sometimes freedom is the right to shoot yourself in the head.

- Looks like you're a little racist, eh, Uber?
- Do you doubt it?
- What about Kipling?
- He died.

Expand your life-like envelope marked urgent.
Confidential.
Personally.
Burn after reading

Break the habitual world.
How we feel when this happens?
The world is bursting at the seams, crunches under my soles, like a glass ball.
Crushed, as the brass sleeve under the impact of heel...
What are we testing?
Nothing.
In addition to shocks.