Character: Voice-over. Page 3

Perhaps the most difficult and highest art of life is not to never lose the person who logged in as joy in your fate. Not to break the dialogue on polycaste, in mid-sentence. There is no greater value than the value of human bonds. Everything lost can be returned. Money... even the reputation... even physical strength. Not only returning the people we lost. They don't come back ever. The ability to save a person to save, no matter what may be the greatest of human arts.

Tupolev rejected the notion of Divine illumination. Intuition recognized. But believed only in the calculation and experience. He was not superstitious, but believed that there were planes happy and unhappy.

In Soviet literary journals were the rules: complete incompetence unprofitable, talent is alarming, the genius is terrifying. Most best-selling currency, moderate literary ability.

So they stood there, in the middle of a strange city, feeling suddenly, but forever locking fragments of something; people who are here for nothing and came here out of nowhere. But now, for a moment, it seemed that all the painful and agonizing is over, disappears for their serried shoulders...

School they blew up in December, eighty-fifth, and in April, eighty-sixth Gorbachev and the rest of the nation declared complete freedom. What is "freedom" none of them knew, but not saying a word, they decided that "freedom" is when you can do everything and anything for it will not.

The old saying: every story begins and ends at the intersection of two paths.

Man like any other living creature loves itself create additional difficulties. This explains the desire to have your own car.

Audiences like thrillers. Nice to see a story knowing how it ends. And, in General, it's flattering to feel smarter than the authors.

There is no end to the cruelty of men who hate strong women.

The skies rained Death... For thirty-five days a battered Atlanta hung grimly on, hoping for a miracle... Then there fell a silence more terrifying than the pounding of the cannon...
Heaven sowed death... Thirty-five days tacky Atlanta fiercely resisted, hoping for a miracle... Then there was silence, even more terrifying than the gunfire...

A Thriller without a chase is like life without love.

It was so dark, quiet and deserted, that we wanted to commit a crime.

Once there was an unknown land, full of whimsical flowers and subtle perfumes; a country where dreams - joy of all joys; the country where everything is absolutely and poisonous.
There is an unknown land full of strange flowers and subtle perfumes, a land of which it is joy of all joys to dream, a land where all things are perfect and poisonous.

Life doesn't have to be a burden, ... it is short, fragile and unique. And every hour, every minute and second of destiny offers the person something new, wonderful and amazing.