Character: on behalf of the author. Page 504

Independence replaces freedom.

No matter what passionate, sinful, rebellious heart has disappeared in the grave, the flowers growing on it serenely look at us with their innocent eyes: not one eternal tranquility, they tell us, of that great peace of "indifferent" nature; they speak also of eternal reconciliation and life everlasting...

Three and a half years I wanted to be a cook, mind you, as a cook, not a chef. At the age of seven wanted to be Napoleon, and my claims since then have become steadily increase.
(At the age of six I wanted to be a chef. At seven Napoleon. And later, my ambitions have grown no less than the desire for greatness.)

... the man who has no enemies, but they successfully replace secretly hate his friends.

Loneliness has now become the only available luxury.

What happened here was not, strictly speaking, neither a tragedy nor a Comedy. It was generally hard to call them something, so was there a mixture of different contradictions and laughter and tears and joy and sorrow, of painful boredom and a most lively interest (all depended on how you look at it), as it was here seething life of passion, deep meaning, funny and sad, vulgar simplicity and emotional complexity, there was happiness and despair, maternal love and the love of man to woman; these offices dragged their heavy feet lust, castigating and indiscriminately the guilty and the innocent, helpless wives and helpless children; drunkenness enslaved men and women, forcing them to pay tribute to fatal; death filled these rooms with their sighs; they listened to the beating of nascent life, filling the soul of some poor girl with shame and despair. There was neither good nor evil. Only one reality. Life.

He hated her, he despised her, he loved her with all my being.

No man can become more a stranger than someone you loved in the past . Breaks a magic thread connecting it with your imagination. Between you and him another rush of lightning, something flickers like a fading, ghostly stars. But this dead light. It's exciting, but not ignite - the invisible current being interrupted.

From insults to defend himself from compassion impossible.

There are people where, no matter how beysya, does not excite in any way the spirit of hatred, vengeance, etc. whatever you do with them, they all touch. However, it is necessary to do them justice, and love them, if you divide it into degrees, to the extent that the heat never comes. Although these people say that they love all, and therefore good, and in fact they don't like anyone and good only because evil.

Only beauty is worthy of love and at the same time visible; it is the only form of the spiritual which we can perceive through the senses and the sense - to endure.

way back into love no. You can never start at the beginning: what happens, stays in the blood. Love is just like time, is irreversible. And neither the victims nor the willingness to everything, no good will nothing can help: such a dark and ruthless the law of love.

In every farewell there is a part of death; the difference is only in the hope of a return.

Madness of the brave we sing glory!
The madness of the brave - that's the wisdom of life! About the brave Falcon! In battle with enemies has expired you blood... But there is a time and drops your blood hot like a spark, will flare up in the darkness of life and many brave hearts will ignite with a madness of liberty, of light!
Let you died!.. But in the song the brave and strong spirit you'll always be a living example, by proud appeal to freedom, to light!
Madness of the brave we sing a song!..