Author of quotes: Nikki Cullen

She's from a world where set, as in a geometric task that all unequal.

What love - falling or flying?

She stroked his hair, black and so tender that I wanted to pass through our fingers like beans, cereals; some do it because fingers are sensitive, pleasure is possible even to lose my mind...

He won't wait he's not human, he is the wind.

... it for him - like a dark moth that flew into the bright room brave man - in the heart; he does not know what to do, to kill or to pour the milk - moths are similar to the gargoyles from Notre Dame Cathedral: the terrible and black hypnotizing that seen for ages...

Stefan stood and watched as she smiles; barely; as snow begins to fall; "I know you a hundred years, remember? Elder mother has blessed us in the spring and in the fall I cast a spell into a Swan; and I went through the worlds and swamps, looking for you; remember? I wove you a shirt from willow twigs, and again you become little boys with gray eyes and with a wing instead of the left hand; remember? We've been like a hundred years; and died in one day, in one hour, on a large bed of satin and roses grew from the front garden to a large garden around our house; and no one can get to our graves, remember?" - here such it was the smile of a fairy tale in one hundred volumes.

She's so beautiful! Like the Queen of the elves - such a fantastic, unnatural her beauty, at times it even seems ugly because of this humanity. And my love, probably, too there is something unnatural - something from curses, witchcraft, love spell, poisoned apples, wine...

So many different smiles he had in stock if different colors, scents, herbs from a herbalist, lace, braid, blush from fashionista....

- You think I love him?
I do not know. I have seen many things, but love is not a crime, so I'm not an expert. But you're worried about him melting away as the sun in the fall; suddenly you beside him will be easier?

Spring, early, grey, strange, when it seems nothing else will: neither summer, nor autumn - but this silence predsmertnoe, predvidenie, gray skies, mother of pearl, with subtle watercolor tints on the horizon....

All was still inside of her laughter, her voice, as if he stood in the doorway of the helicopter was not on the training height and was going to jump for the first time with a parachute without an instructor, without training; where you learn to love?

That's why you're not afraid of anything: you are always behind your stories; and I fear nothing: I have behind my music; it's like Ancient Rome - legions, hosts of angels, tremendous strength.

My head ached, and the feeling intensified, as if someone had replaced me in the night for another more lonely; he lived all his life in the city centre, the apartment with cats, geraniums, the only books about the sea; strange story...

The guy she loved then; "with which she slept" - it was impossible to tell just like that, cruel and cynical, like you know life; it is the truth I loved them all; then I believed that this particular form of stupidity, now I think it's a special talent, unusual and touching...