At liminality, at a transitional point between his last night dream and reality, he realizes he has made a big mistake and happiness is possible without death. (Coming back to himself.)

…but he realized he would never reconcile himself to life as something other than a prelude. What’s life’s meaning then? What is it? What does make the world go round, not letting hope die? What do people dream about, watching the endless flow of years? They dream. A dream, that’s it. We live for our only dream, which can lead us, hand in hand, through our life; for the dream we reconcile ourselves to any frustrations and we shall struggle for releasing its silky wings from the net of reality. (The right to a mistake.)

Sober Minds give the world a chance. True Love brings you Hope. Blind Faith moves mountains. And the main savior from despair is Laughter.

Catch sunbeams in a mirror! A reflection of a sunbeam can melt an iceberg.

Looking through the ruby glass one cannot see the true colour of the sky.

Many believe creativity is mystery, and I always knew that my body is the key.

Art for Art’s Sake is for the well fed. The well fed are all the babies in cradles and my kitty along with them, and I am happy if my writings are for my kitty.

Every kingdom has three pillars: Poet, Sword and Law.

Literary style is like crystal-ware: the cleaner the wineglass, the brighter the brilliance. As a reader, I agree with those who believe that a colour of the dress, which a character has on, as well as any enumeration and description of dishes at dinner or in the kitchen should be mentioned only in case if all this has a strong consequent relation to the plot, but as an author, I can’t help mentioning all this, with no particular reason, just for love for my characters, desiring to give them something nice and pleasant. Melancholy grows a platinum rose. Affection grows a double rose.

Every morning is a reason to begin living again… in case if you have had a good sleep. If not, then begin living again, anyway, and take care of yourself!

Have you ever asked yourself, where do Evil come from? No? But many ask the question, and I’ll tell you where there is Evil. Not in Darkness, as many believe, but in Garbling. Garbling turns Light into Darkness, and Darkness into Light. Either is precipitated by it into its non-existent universe. Garbling merges Chaos and Harmony -- not as their harmony -- but its own, garbled. Garbling rules here below.

A demon, who serves to a warlock, begins tormenting his master, if he has not enough work. Talent is the demon.

Whatever they say about it, but being altruistic is not so simple for everyone. Not to look and sound like despotism, altruism must be learnt, and it’s a long way, which in fact begins from our egoism, for really, a human can’t love others if he doesn’t love himself first.

Time whips up cream for those who are ready for dessert.

Some believe that every library looks like a splendid cemetery of human thoughts and ideas. Could librarians be called grave-diggers? However that may be, like a cemetery, a library will never stop being of use.

Even a best fountain-pen cannot make a writer be a fount of eloquence, but fountains teach to sob with ecstasy.

Starfall in the sky as a result of anybody’s Fall here below?

Writer is always alone. But every author is a creator, and gods are lonely.

Every reader can live One Thousand and One Lives; every fiction author can have One Thousand and One Masks, and their talent can have One Thousand and One Facets.

Creative writing is your ability to develop your inner tension, your libido, your supply of energy and electric charge, turning the charge into an image or thought, and wording the thought, thus contributing all the activity of your mind to the immortal culture of humankind and subsequently to your own immortality.

It’s despicable of an author to kill his main personage solely for stirring imagination of indifferent or mean minds.

I will survive: if the hell rejects me, there is always the paradise.

Every cloud of confetti has a dark lining.

Seven pillars of wisdom propping the roof of the temple. Always remember what there's beyond the pillars.

I hate fallen angels. They can talk about nothing but their fall and sins.

If you are an angle, all you can give is boredom.

There is the title of one book In Underground One Can Meet Only Rats. And I'd re-phrase, In Cosmos One Can Meet Only Mutants, besides, rats are mutants too there, in cosmos, therefore, I'd rather walk on the ground.

Some believe that as an icon the image of Oscar Wilde is too old and notorious--all right, not an icon, let him be our oriflamme.

We are pagans. We deify each other.

Hope as evidence of life. Life as evidence of death.

The bell tolling not for us, it’s time for bluebells.

The first snow is like the first love. Do you remember your first snow?