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And if you do not try, then there is only one option.' A strange thing, human relationships, there are people who are always and everywhere, but they hurt a little, and they are found only one.

There are people with whom unbearable from the first second and forever, such is why there are a lot more. There are people with whom.

'If you try, you have two options: succeed or fail

they are not lit. don't care about. Them quite a lot. the crowd called, and there are people like with whom, and the thoughts and feelings are the same. I go to meet him with open arms, and on the other hand a person is all wide open. this sometimes will hit the discharge current. All heart in splinters.

And these people are the most valuable.

That's just learning how to take care of them. The woman is a Flower. And man is the Gardener. The gardener nurtures and raises a Flower. Flower in turn thanks him, giving him their tenderness and beauty. The thoughtful Gardener the most beautiful Flower. When you want to complain that love does not exist, that family values are exchanged for shit, all around the infantile, cowardly, fake, soulless and roundnose look in the mirror and be ashamed. Constructive consequences of an inferiority complex is to see in yourself, not in someone, why it failed Saturday night.

Constructive consequences of megalomania to see in yourself, not in someone, the focus of world evil.

Constructive consequences of having a brain to fucking think, think, think a little ornate than because you deserve it.

There is the justice of fate, there is a balance, there is a law: if in the morning you want to puke from boredom, you deserve it left, not a cafe-mate, croissant with jam and a wonderful view from the window.

To each according to merit, each of Khodorkovsky, Berezovsky, Michael Jackson and Medvedev, the Golden heirs and Moldovan domestic workers, fag, whores, and the lights of reason all on merit, all up to the last toad. Didn't take to the Islands.

Gave over two hundred and fifty thousand euros leads to finger and listened to the chatter about my career.

Fuck you, and fingers, and career. Oh, how sweet this moment in the life of a modern inhabitant of the metropolis is to shift the responsibility to the first comer at the scene. Responsibility for the future and, of course, for the past.

Responsibility for the unlearned irregular verbs, for the unearned millions of unread Goethe, for Madagascar, which never went, because fuck Madagascar, if there's Turkey-all-inclusive.

You were too lazy, bitch, bother, too lazy. Was too lazy to jump above the head. Was too lazy to even try. Dad, can I ask you something.

Of course, what happened.

Dad, how much you get. It's none of your business.

outraged father.

And then, why would you.

Just want to know.

Please tell me, how much do you get per hour.

Dad son looked up at him very serious eyes.

Dad, can you lend me.

You asked so I gave you money for some stupid toy.

Immediately March to your room and go to bed.

You can not be so selfish. I work all day very tired, and you're so foolish. Baby quietly went to his room and closed the door behind him. But his father continued to stand at the door and be mad at the request of his son."How dare he ask me about the salary, then to ask for money."But after some time he calmed down and began to think:"Maybe he did something very important you need to buy. To hell with them, with three hundred, he's still generally never I did not ask for money."When he entered the nursery, his son was already in bed. Are you awake, son. Just lie there, answered the boy. I seem too harsh said to you, his father said. I've had a hard day and I just snapped. Here, take the money you asked for. The boy sat up and smiled. Oh, folder, thank you. joyfully he cried.

He then crawled under the pillow and pulled out a few crumpled bills.

It his father, seeing that the child already has the money, again angry. A baby put all the money together, and carefully counted the bills, and then looked back at his father. Why would you want money if you already have them. grunted the one. Because I have had enough. But now I just enough, replied the child. Dad, here exactly five hundred.