it [Theme] Page 203

True love does not exist - and at the same time it is here and now, the fact is that it does not exist here and now either - and this is something that instantly disappears from us.

I had one friend, she added "sorry" through the word and so got everyone that her friends did not dare to offer her a glass of water out of fear, as if she would not begin to apologize for what she wants to drink.

"Wise people always tell only the truth – ordinary people only when it is necessary."
© Mark Devolt

Conscience is a panacea for all evil, if it is always in reality.

Love does not live on television projects, on Instagram photos and other tinsel. She cannot emerge from the most beautiful dates and the right courtship. True love is beyond all this attributive shit. But you rarely hear about it, because happiness loves silence.

- What are you even talking about? I was going crazy with anxiety for you! Can you imagine what I had to go through?

- You know what I like? She asked.
- So what? Tatum asked.
- Beer.

- Don't Go Away! She whispered to Teitumu.
And he said,
- I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

There was a softness in his gaze that she had not noticed before. Or maybe she was just looking for something that she was missing now ...

Not so long ago, she herself worked, but she began to understand this annoying principle: whoever does not pull, you won’t ask, and who pulls - and will pull for two.

He said "chestnut" and waited. But nothing happened. <... > "Chestnut!" It was amazing: when Lucien told his mother: "My beautiful mother", she smiled when he called Germain "gun", she cried and went to complain to her mother. But when he said the word "chestnut," nothing happened. He strained through his teeth, "Nasty tree, nasty chestnut! I'll show you, wait!" and kicked him. But the tree stood calmly and calmly, as if it were wooden.

Sometimes you look at a woman, and she will look at you, and there is an elusive recognition, mutual understanding, in which anything is possible. Or not.

<... > would like her to live alone - like me when Louis left - to know what it would be like in the evenings, after working all day, to return alone to her room, and find it empty, and die of the desire to put her head on someone's shoulder. From where, it is asked, and the strength is taken to get up the next morning, and again go to work, and be charming and cheerful, and encourage everyone, while I would like to die rather than continue such a life.

Abby had one trick to those cases when Red began to behave like an old moron. She remembered the day she fell in love with him.
"It was a beautiful, windy, yellowish-green afternoon..." - she began, and everything returned to her - and this novelty, and a huge new world, magically revealed the minute she first realized that the man whom she had barely noticed for many years was in fact a true treasure. He was perfect, that's what she told herself. And then suddenly, through sagging skin, crumpled eyelids, sunken cheeks and deep depressions at the mouth, through nonsense, stupid stubbornness and the outrageous belief that simple cold logic solves all life's problems, a calm clear-eyed young man again appeared. And Abby again understood what an indescribable happiness it was that she had got this beautiful, handsome prince as her husband.