Character: Jakub

"Why do you these stupid descriptions of a sick imagination defective deaf mute hysteric on invalid pensions, which can humiliate any ham only because he feels many times better than me because he hears?"
And as she nervously wrote, the characters became more and more promiscuous, just like becoming slurred voice of a man who cries, expressing resentment and despair. I remember I went up to her and pressed her to him. Then washed off with sponge and mirror its inscription and by the same token wrote for what to me these descriptions and how they are important to me. She clung to me, crying like a baby.

Still he does so in detail described their suffering. Didn't want to. And needs was not. Father already knew everything without words, and others... Others just didn't matter. But her he wanted to tell. Every detail. About every tear. And he did it. Why? Because it is far and not see the tears? Or because there is no one else to tell, but I really want to tell? Or maybe it's pure selfishness? The desire to share the sorrow of the past and thus to reduce its burden? Maybe it now means so much to him, so important, so set up with him in response and so trust worthy that he was not afraid even this level of intimacy? And it is also. But, perhaps, the matter does not end there.

... weekend is these two days that there is no need to go to work.

No wonder that Steinbeck wrote so well. We know also that he drank and in addition lived in Monterey.

... men's pride in connection with sensitiveness has become like wound on foot that gets sore from walking. A walk is necessary.

If she was leaving me slowly, step by step, if it broke off from the heart piece by piece, it would be much easier.

Blues is woven from sorrow. So you say any Negro in New Orleans.

You know, I'm always a little bit missed you, even when you were next to me. Missed you like a little in reserve. Then, when you go home, not so much to miss. But it still didn't help.

Women who mattered in my life knew my past.

Statistics don't lie. Lying just statistics.

Having a child is means to Express my absolute agreement with the man. If I had a child, then I sort of said I was born, I know life and saw that it was so good that it deserves repetition.

People have to poison her birthday. It needs to be presented to him at the ceremony. But not in order to seduce his suicide. On the contrary, to live with more calmness and more confidence. To live with the consciousness that he is the master of his life and death.

Come to the conclusion that there is no difference between the guilty and the victim, it means to lose all hope. And called it hell, my girl.

How much pain and grief you can give a man less than two minutes.