Character: Joseph Ames

In life it's never as good as you'd expect, and as scary as fear.

The more complex and forget the man explains something to himself, the higher the probability that it just is justified.

Mostly we make each other very her thoughts. In fact, inside think is much simpler, harder and more openly. And these hard simple our thoughts are our real thoughts and our heart.

The book is an eternal idea. The hand stretched through the decades and centuries, when there impossible to find the source.

The old wood Carver. Student cut badly, often got cuts everyday. Then began a strong student work. Then the soulless professionalism. Too much distracted. When love came to the point and it has become a major, Central - began to get things bright and powerful. Come old age. Glasses fat. His hands were shaking. Joints swollen from arthritis, and Carver realized that can not even cut a simple wooden spoon. He wept, prayed to God: "Lord, Yes, of course!" and suddenly in the acute insight realized that he was cut not wood, but something more important. Cut yourself...

Good test, how to seek the weak points. Speak to brother on the phone. And he, temper, shouted: "You bow-legged, heartless, selfish, incompetent, cynical, fat, sweaty, stunted, greedy, round-shouldered, hysterical, gestatory, inattentive, balding robber Barmaley!" I listen and just scratching myself at the moment, and only on one word (for example, incompetent) will experience a wild protest and rage. So, that's my word is.

Animals often die from simple wounds because bite the hands of the doctor, razrezajut seams and tear imposed bandage. The same thing happens with people who begin to pick open old grudges instead of forgiving them and letting them be erased.

Every day should contain a bright thing to do. Even the most ridiculous. Even if it is a yellow scarf, tied to the birch.

True love cannot remain unrequited. If unrequited love is instinct.

Boredom this toy is for those for whom all the houses look the same, all cats are the same, all books are like all people - cloaked bastards.

In war, all was as always. Killed the best and the worst. The best first ran into the attack and got under the guns, shielding us with his chest. The worst crawled out of the trenches and forgot about the minefield. Left middle - we. Left to define who we are.

In life it often happens that the spear, not knowing of the mistake, throw the bird, which is impossible to get.

Only he who gives can take.

People die when it ends in joy.