Character: Franz

- I told her: I will go through any hell, enjoying.

Burn out, just sitting on the ass! They burn out where they don’t really want to decide anything, or feel! They just want all the work to do automatically on its own - here it is the most human factor! Oh, are you translating? Do you make any real decisions? I have never seen people burn out like Gerhard! Those morons burn out who cannot accept reality!

- Choose safety every time and you will definitely lose. Yes.

And that's true - much less fears remain in you, and with those that are, life becomes more fun.

EVE: Whatever. I love you so much, so much it's terrible.

And headlessness.

You see, Sarah, whatever a person does, any feat is not a victory over the dragon, it is a victory over the stupid inertia of the human masses. In any area. Is always. Victory over six billion idiots. This is very exhausting. As long as you see it this way. On the other hand, whatever you want to realize, that is, whatever thoughts you want to realize, you need an action that will always be resisted. Even if you want to cut a pipe out of a stick, you will need to overcome the stick's resistance. If human stupidity is viewed in this aspect, it becomes much more bearable. Here is Heike, I love her very much, what problems with Heike while her fantastic stupidity has no effect on my life? And now imagine that my result, the result of the pipe and the beauty of the melody, depends on whether Heike is stupid, like a stump or still like a seaweed, the matter becomes more complicated, because stupidity is ineradicable. Now let's imagine: in order for the pipe to play, you need to make the stump stop being a stump for at least a minute. This is where truly misanthropic motives begin. And I do not like hatred, my sweet one. It's a good motor, but it's hard to live in. And you need to be a god ten times more than Yahweh, Allah and Brahma put together in order to treat invincible human stupidity during high stakes as just another manifestation of the law of action and opposition. Neither Brahma, nor Allah, nor Yahweh did this, judging by the scriptures. But even that is not enough for me.

And the girl looks at you greedily...
The girl looks at you like a valkyrie on a konung a second before the so common in the sagas, but no less pleasant phrase: yes, konung, come on, make me a son.
And the girl loves.
Not to be loved, not because she is so braver or more comfortable.
Because you. And because she has eyes. She didn't put them in her anus, she looks at them and knows that she will find somewhere else the same source of life as you.

I have to allow myself everything that defines me, and I am defined by everything I allow myself.
Over the "I" endless work: the introduction of new details, improvement of the old, adjustments, installations, strokes ...
God's greatest masterpiece, Herbert, is God.
I am what I feel about myself, how I feel - only this determines the world.
The world exists only for me to define myself through it.
A constructor I gave myself to measure myself, to discover and make details, as in the children's books of the Scandinavians - I have half-awake, three monkeys, seven parrots - and of the whole menagerie, one I am real, the rest are far-fetched methods of measuring myself.
I have so many wars, so much charity, a certain amount of debt, a pint of tenderness, etc.
The greatest masterpiece of the creator is the creator.
Not stars, galaxies, the dance of supermassive giants in the hearts of universes - no, Herbert is what you become while you play the notes, unchanged and eternally new. It's a very personal thing of God alone... and perhaps with corpses dressed up, in blush and paint, corpses stiffened by former versions of themselves.
Such a dance.

Music flows like life.
On the clean.
Cramped creatures with very slow brains need to sit,
reread
cross out,
to torture myself.
It wasn't easy for me to get out of it.
Life is simple.
There can be nothing attractive in the slow unrawing of the soul,
squeezing yourself like a pimple on paper
or on canvas.
People are rushing at it to somehow justify it.
Not to recognize that divinity is weightless.
Not to see the hierarchy between the artisan, talent, genius, god.

The main treasure on Earth is people. People with brains, hearts and honor, with fullness rather than swamp fog in the convolutions. Modesty - to understand the place of their own. Each such - will be a treasure. Also because such are not born in nature. You take it and sculpt it. The treasure is something that you have created personally.

There are really only two intentions, Mom. In all these millennia of human existence, there are only two intentions. Survival is such a slow decay when even the usual actions necessary for survival are a burden. And live. Living is always about improving the world. And if humanity has achieved anything, it is only at the expense of those people who had the intention to live.

Mom, you don't have to be afraid of the storm, you have to be.

Physics, thank gods, does not have stupid human pity. It doesn't matter to her why you are sticking around in burning gasoline: if you stubbornly stick around in burning gasoline, out of malice or not, you will become a freak with pieces of meat falling off and die. And your death will be painful.