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You can love a person all your life, but you never know what he really is...

The main thing in life is to learn from your mistakes and remember that you have close people who will remain there no matter what.

After all, writing history and creating History are incredibly close things, and the distance between them is no more than a hair or the thickness of a book page.

The main thing is to direct his anger towards his immediate neighbors, whom he sees every day, and to move kindness to the periphery so that he thinks that he feels it towards those whom he does not know at all. Then the anger will become a real wave, and the imaginary kindness.

In the last few years, I have entered into such a close relationship with this best friend of mankind that now death is not only not something terrible for me, but on the contrary, very comforting.

Darling ... Cheer up, don't let the past affect your future. Mistakes, everyone makes mistakes. The main thing is to repent of your sins. In this life, the main thing is not to lose yourself, not to lose that personality. And appreciate those who are near, for they are your loved ones. Open up to them, they will understand everything, support in any situations. Life ... Life is just beginning. Everything is in your hands, everything depends on your decisions.

No, you don't know him because you live next to him. Worst of all, we know our loved ones ... We reach the point where we stop seeing those around us.

Aren't you aware that often loved ones are the ones who cause you the most pain?

I have always been impressed by the idea of geniuses communicating among themselves through time and space. People of different destinies, different paradigms, different mentalities and ... so close in spirit.

Happiness is what is with you here and now. And this is not a bank account, not an iPhone of the latest model, and not the number of subscribers on Instagram. Happiness is that your loved ones are alive and well. The fact that you have friends, those who are always glad to you, who accept you as you are, and are ready to come to your aid at any moment. You are happy when you have someone to take care of, and there is someone who needs this care.

- You are a moronic hippie adult wandering in the desert.

When a person is on horseback, he has a huge audience that applauds and wants to lean back. When a person fell from a horse, God forbid that there are those closest to him who will help him get up, go further and saddle the next horse.

After all, all human life, in fact, is a slow dying. It is not even we who are dying - the world around us gradually fades. In the first years of our life, and it is in its prime. (Isn't that why childhood memories are so vivid?) We are surrounded by close creatures - father, mother, grandmothers, grandfathers, friends from kindergarten and school come for them, first love blossoms. These are the cornerstones on which the small universe of each of us is based. In childhood and adolescence, it is completely real and tangible, while all people dear to us are with us among the living. With each of them we are connected by myriads of the finest threads: common thoughts, shared vacations, light, dizzy novels, an outstretched hand. Weaving together memories and experiences, these people weave the silk yarn of our reality, our world, our life.
But the years go by, and they - one by one - leave us, turn into ethereal ghosts and find their last refuge in our memories. Trying to make our native voice sound even for a fraction of a second in our head, trying to return from oblivion the charm of their smile, we can spend hours in vain looking at their photographs. The pain of losing a loved one cannot be overcome; only time dulls it.
And with each new death, our Universe is shifting more and more into another dimension - into the plane of our fantasies, the plane of our memory. It goes into the past, we live less and less for today, and more and more immerse ourselves in yesterday, which is indistinctly and vaguely imprinted in our consciousness.
The first to leave are grandmothers and grandfathers, the dog that was with us while we were growing up dies, and our childhood dies with them. Their death is a milestone: after it, the so-called maturity begins.
Then it is the turn of the parents; when they leave us, it will mean that adulthood is over, and we froze on the threshold of old age. And then one of the long-gray school friends or the toothless, but with the same enthusiasm of the university comrades who were smiling at us, dies; finally, a husband or wife.
This is the last sign: it's time for us to prepare too. Because our whole world, like a dying huge ocean liner, is plunging into the abyss of the past. Dark waters will drop by drop fill the cabins of memories, inhabited by the images of colleagues, army colleagues, phantoms of fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters ... They will rush into luxurious banquet halls, where we celebrated our little triumphs: successfully passed school exams, hard-won admission to the university, love victories, weddings and births of children, expected job promotions for years. The holds, where the black hours of our life are dumped, will also be flooded: we would like to batten them down tightly, but memory gapes with cracks, the edges of which will never converge.
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... When the waves of oblivion reach the captain's bridge and lick our feet, it will only be necessary to salute with dignity for the last time and silently close our eyes. And then we, in turn, will become the borderline that will mark the end of childhood for our grandchildren and the beginning of old age for our children.

Feelings are looking for the obvious thing.