Character: Mark

That's how it happened. Happened with every new book. At first, everything falls apart, crumbles like paper that has dried out over time, and the characters all look the same, and events scatter like streams from a broken cup. And then suddenly something clicks in the mechanism of the universe... And the characters take on their own faces. And the plot ceases to be invented, it no longer needs the author’s instructions, it itself knows perfectly well where to go.

Life consists of millions of stories; life itself is one continuous story.

Having settled with my grandmother, I immersed myself in reading. There was not just another world there - there were many other worlds there. And each one called with his own special voice, beckoning with his own colors and aromas, unlike others.

All these greyhound writers from

The main thing is to control yourself. Avoid fear or panic.

Death and grief are a natural part of life. It's nothing you can do.

We live with the scars we make for ourselves.

The planets lined up, the truth came into its own imperiously. She made her way to the surface, breaking and blowing into dust everything that tried to cover her. The natural course of events was inevitable and destructive.

In my head was the line of Aragon: "To be a man is to fall indefinitely."

Not to tell the whole truth is to lie.

Under the knee, and so soon? From Mar quite no honour?
- Sorry, I forgot to take with them until the grave was out.

- What was it? What's the matter? What is it?
- Yes, he's, you know, debility.

Boys are different from men in the first place so that they do stupid things without thinking.

The noise downstairs subsided.
I reached for the gun. He was not on the spot.
- You took the gun? - I asked.
- No.
- But how?... He was lying there when we went.
I swear I didn't touch it, ' said Caro. Is her spirit. She doesn't know she died, and wanders downstairs.
- Bullshit. Women have no souls, so there's nobody wanders.