Author of quotes: March Cetro. Page 16

Drunken tears - water, drunken catharsis - hysterical, drunken work - cheap.

Machine, she is a woman. It is not how much she eats and how to enjoy it!

Almost every young creature makes the same mistake - paying too much attention to the body called "heart". It's extremely unfair. The liver, for example, is much more modest and a serious worker in our body, but who in his youth listening to his liver? She'll "not ecstasy drink beer, not drink beer ecstasy", and you zero attention. But as soon eknet heart, like a girl ready to go at it on occasion.

Perhaps the thing is that calling our complex feelings of love, we stretched and torn that notion, crushed the fragile design of the relations, and as a result remain with nothing. The love is much simpler than the objects that we are trying to pull. Well, this is how to put a condom on by moving a hand with splayed fingers.

The kings appointed painter or poet by main postelnick, you're just a boy from the outskirts, talents, errands you can't afford it.

Sometimes so urgent suddenly realize that regardless of the time scale of the individual feelings do not change - love, disappointment, despair.
We splevyval the same bitterness that drove mouth people three centuries ago, and the same tenderness of the bones melts and dissolves the thoughts of the current girl, and some eight hundred old lady, in love with the minstrel. Troubadour. Trouvera. Minnesinger finally.

The most interesting in it was my love, and now - nothing special.

Love, of course, is not dead, she's gone, her head thrown back, looking at the purple night sky, smiling at the memories, leaving only the tenderness.

Such a simple trap: always know where to go to get you remember, caressed and given a mandatory minimum community. Every single comes across on this opportunity quickly, inexpensively, for sure. Such humanitarian assistance can be stretched half a lifetime. Fortunately, I remember only too well how it was for real. I'd rather spend a bit more strength to start all over again - with someone else.

I was walking recently down the street and wondering what I can think about lately. And come to the conclusion that all the laws of goodness and beauty have I to heap up enormous compensation for my current loss and consequent suffering. Or, think of CREATIVE BREAKTHROUGH happens, or give MONEY. And I went with these thoughts to the supermarket, and there the cashier, due to the lack of the little things, forgive me "two fifteen". And that's all?!

It is easier to part with the man than with the illusions about him.

I can't find a place. Too believe that it is, and now, when this place was not, nor any other does not suit me. In the ring his hands beside him at the monitor in the corner of his drawings, in his heart, in his life. An obvious solution is to look for a place not in another, and in their own lives. But it does not yet exist without it.

He once said, "Happiness," and I suddenly realized what it was. The word I so many years throwing partners and receive back like a ping-pong ball, - a light, white, dry pounding the floor, this ain't it. But the sun and purple lightning, Yes.

I need to find a little inner freedom. And tomorrow I'll go into the woods I will wander alone, scaring squirrels. With spruce needles in their hair, in wet sneakers and a stick. Take a sausage and will not return till dusk.
Or "Okhotny Ryad", see ECCO, Benetton and fool Jennifer at the same time. Will take money and will not return before the closure.
No, tomorrow I'm going to dance. Decided to wear the tight pants and go turn his ass in the name of art. Under ethnic and barefoot. Take a grass and will not return until the morning. Yes anywhere, if only one. Not to talk, not to call, not to look. And damn this life, don't wait. Don't take and never return.