Character: Andrey Mirkin. Page 2

I feel sorry for us because we have forgotten how to trust others. Killed that feeling in years. Squandered it, smeared on the walls unfinished glasses, drowned in whiskey. We we no longer believe we can be sincere.

Why is it that truth is the only version that nobody ever believes?

Hate it, hate it...

We are afraid of their own confessions. We are afraid to even try to fall in love, waiting everywhere of the bases. God, who so wronged us?

Three Vertu is not only bad form, but three or four drinking a lake of sperm. Although some lakes. A Niagara!

Sometimes thoughts of blame, but I've been there where the "blame", nothing happened.

In the struggle with yourself the main thing - not victory, and participation...

The moment when a woman allows you to observe his morning toilet, is mistaken by men for a high degree of trust and beginning of love. In reality, it just means that you have become yet another part of her personal use.

Now is the time I associate with the toilet of the fashionable club. Around marble, huge mirrors, expensive perfumes, clothes that will be fashionable tomorrow, the money that appeared from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere, deep conversations till the morning, the cycle of girls that come and go, the plumbing is bizarre. And you're sitting on a throne with his eyes closed, knowing that the style of the Arab Sheikh, the heir to an oil Empire or a fashion promoter, and it is unclear which is more important. In any case, the whole world is at your feet. But then the eyelids twitch involuntarily, you open your eyes and realize that sitting still in the toilet, and at the bottom, under you, all the same shit.

- Dasha, you look like my ex-wife.
- You were married? - In her eyes betrays anxiety.
- No, it was not. But to act could only my ex-wife!

I don't know how to answer correctly when you kill. I don't know whether to answer at all.

Even if your life resembles a madhouse - change profession, dude! Be happy - start again, to suck the life of the common man. Or don't complain, dammit!

Books are the two functions of social (indicate your highest spiritual development) and applied (they conveniently put the ashtray).

When watching this movie ("the Cruel romance"), all the while wondering, what the hell in life so happens that the person falls madly in love only to someone he is clearly not a couple? In fact, with whom, and so clear: a happy ending would not be?