Character: Elam Harnish

Remember, guys, when happiness will smile to you, do not yawn, hold onto it with all his might. What happiness, if you miss it? Grab it by the tail! How old am I in this country - and was waiting for happiness rolled. Here we go finally. Now I will not let go. Well, good night you!

He stuck to his own simplistic theories that everything is a gamble. God is something impalpable, wayward, headstrong, called Happiness. The risk starts right from the birth: who is destined to be born a fool or a robber? Card is dealt, Happiness, and innocent babies will choose to hand those cards. Complaining, complaining is useless. Here's your card, and like it or not, and play - anyway, you're a hunchback or slim, ugly or handsome, idiot or genius. It is vain to seek justice. The majority of players falls into the category of fools; to few, thanks to a good map, become robbers. The draw of the cards - this is the life. Assemblage of players - society. Card table - land. Rate creature comforts, from the piece of bread to big red car. And ultimately happy players and one unhappy waiting for death and oblivion. Hard, of course, stupid and disadvantaged - their loss is the foregone conclusion. But the better he got to know the other, those who seemed to win more often it took the doubt: is it really so much do they win? After all, they too are doomed to death and oblivion, and their life isn't worth much. This bickering wild beasts together: the strong trample the weak and the strong, as he was convinced by the example Doucet, Letton and Guggenhammer, is not the best. He remembered his humble comrades in the Arctic. They were stupid and disadvantaged - those who work and sweat and who Rob the fruits of his labor, like the old woman who makes the wine in the SONOMA mountains; but they are far truer, more honest, more noble than the people who Rob them. It turns out that win-just crooks, traitors, scoundrels. But even they are not masters of their own destiny, they are only playing the cards they got.

Anger possessed him with such force that it broke the lust for murder in his mind flashed a crazy plot and bloody massacre of the betrayed his people. That's what I had to do this a spring chicken, not to commit suicide. To put a gun to their heads. Harnish opened his suitcase and pulled out the heavy colt. He took a large finger guard and eight times in a row, pulled out the stopper; eight rounds, one after the other, fell on the table; he again filled the shop, and sent one bullet in the chamber and, keeping the trigger, put the gun on the fuse. Then put the gun in the side pocket of the coat, ordered another Martini and sat down again in the chair. Thus passed an hour, but Harnish wasn't already smiling.

He was afraid of women because he did not understand them and did not understand them, because they were afraid.

But such was his nature. The money is just chips in the game. It was drawn to the game itself.

All is nothing more than a game, the rate at which life.

Love is the biggest trump cards.

The female logic is something damning against common sense.