Character: Alexis

... Wisdom, like life itself, is in continuous progress, in constant need to start over in patience.

Under the stars it is easy to give great ideas. Harder to keep them intact in a series of petty everyday life; harder to stay in front of people the same as we are before God.

People never tell the whole truth, but when you have created a habit of something silent, you soon notice that so do all. I got a strange ability to recognize secret defects and weaknesses; my conscience was naked exposed in front of me the conscience of others.

... To exhaust yourself is also a way to samorodina, but overworking the body leads eventually to the exhaustion of the soul. And who knows, Monica, what is better: restless soul or soul sleep?

Others see how we look, how we move, how our lips are born of the word, but his life we see only. Strange: we see it, we wonder what it is, and changing it can't.

I always thought that music should just be silence, the mystery of silence, which tries to Express yourself. Take for example the fountain. Silent water fills the pipe going into them, poured over the edge, and the falling raindrop acquires a sound. I always thought that music should be none other than paralepsis over the edge of the great silence.

In the depths of hopeless impotence is always lurking solace.

The world for each of us exists only to the extent that it touches our lives.

Suffering makes us selfish, because it absorbs us completely: only later, when we reminisce, it teaches us compassion.

Women's memory like the old tables for needlework. They have secret compartments; there are those that stayed too long on the lock and now is not open up; there are dried flowers, which turned into pink dust, intricate tangles, sometimes the pins.

- You hate my parents!
- They suck. Except your mom... and dad...

- You education more banned fireworks?
- You know I'm a disappointment.