Author of quotes: Leonid Nikolaevich Andreev. Page 1

He was not thinking about death and not about life: it is concentrated in deep and calm attentiveness, played a hard game of chess. An excellent chess player, it is the first day of imprisonment began and the party continued without interruption. And the verdict, presidency him to death by hanging, had not moved any pieces on an invisible Board.
Even the fact that the party to finish him, apparently, do not have not stopped him; and the morning of the last day that remained to him on earth, he began with that one fixed yesterday, not a good move.

Of death yet, but there is no longer life, but there is something new, strikingly strange, and not quite devoid of sense, not the sense, but this deep, mysterious and inhuman that cannot be opened.

It is small, dirty and evil that has awakened in him a contempt for people and sometimes even caused an aversion to the sight of a human face, has disappeared entirely: so for man rising in a balloon, disappearing litter and dirt of the close streets of the deserted town, and beauty becomes ugly.

Time did not, as if the space had turned it transparent, airless, in a huge area where all the land and life and people; and it seems at a glance, all the way to the end to the mysterious cliff of death. And not that it was torment, it is death, and that immediately visible and life and death.

But the lack of it, as sometimes happens with good people, loved him, perhaps even more than dignity.

I did it, the devil afraid of? he thought about death. Is my life pathetic. The great thing is that whatever is said pessimists.

And as clearly as a candle in the glow of the rising sun, the dim and the dark seemed youth and life before the great and radiant, which ought to illuminate her modest head.

And suddenly, for one moment, for the short moment, the old warden, a lifetime spent in prison, and its rules are recognized as if the laws of nature, it seemed, and she, and all life something of a madhouse, and he, the warden, is the most important crazy.

And happily became a vague and terrible moment that it is impossible to think, receded into the distance, was fabulous and incredible, as every death.

She was very pale, but not deathly pale, and one special white hot when inside of a man as if lighted a huge, heavy fire, and the body glows transparently like fine Sevres porcelain.

And the sky she looked without affection and happy memories, because in all breech dirty room this blue bit of sky was the most beautiful, pure and honest - nothing was bugging her eyes.

And now, the top dusted with last summer's protasovshchina one very strange and beautiful sky: at first glance it seemed to be milky-gray, smoky, and when looking for longer - it started to appear blue, it started to galoubet deeper, brighter, all unlimited. And the fact that it did not open all at once, chastely concealed in a haze of translucent clouds, making it cute, like the girl you love.

Just as they were relaxed as necessary in order to protect his soul and the great dying it dark from a stranger, angry and hostile glance.

Nothing living, neither man, nor beast, can not know the day and hour of his death. Here he was sick recently and the doctors told him that he would die that need to make a final order, and he did not believe them and really alive. And in his youth had entangled in his life and decided to commit suicide; and the revolver made, and letters wrote, and even appointed the hour of the day of the suicide, and before the end of the changeup. And always, at the last moment, something can change, it can be an unexpected accident, and therefore no one can say of myself when he dies.