Григорий Карев

От травы до 'туравы' пять шагов. — Дарья Рагозина. Oх...еваю от жизни с бабушками. — Дарья Рагозина. Я ещё позвоню ей, доеб...сь, так сказать, по-культурному. — Полина Савиных. I left two bodies in the eurotunnel—a french politician, who mattered, and a british prostitute, who didn't. I brought them together to show a simple truth: there is no equality before the law. by The Tunnel (2013—2018). “I know where Wind Gap is. I asked what it's like.” “Small. Population held at 2000 for years. The only real industry is hog butchering, so you got your old money and your trash.” “Which one are you?” “Trash. From old money.” by Gillian Flynn in Sharp Objects. You're a product of silence, of apathy, a school built on stolen ground, of women... a parent, grandparent, ancestor, who suppressed dreams and ideas, who died with lost potential and horrific memories of sexual assault, who didn't feel good enough, or pretty enough, or—enough. Even your anxiety is part of your history. And yet, here you are. Privileged. Blessed. To do... what? by Viola Davis. ....all of a sudden, you're desperate for making sense out of this life, and, “Has anybody felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?” Or the inverse—something great. “Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?” And that's when art's not a luxury, it's actually sustenance. by Ethan Hawke. They give me chickenshit. I have to make chicken nuggets. by Salma Hayek. “How do you relax?” “I don't think I do. You see, in German or in French there is no such word as relax. This is an American invention.” by Marlene Dietrich. I am sick today, dear Susie, and have not been to church. There has been a pleasant quiet, in which to think of you, and I have not been sick eno' that I cannot write to you. by Emily Dickinson, late January, 1855. I write for nothing and for no one. Anyone who reads me does so at his own risk. I don't make literature: I simply live in the passing of time. The act of writing is the inevitable result of my being alive. by Clarice Lispector in A Breath of Life. The humanity, the beautiful humanity, is dark. by Jean-Marc Vallée. I think there’s a great lie that we tell kids that pleasure creates happiness. by Ethan Hawke. Why worry if you can obsess? by Amy Adams. — Теперь так много фальшивых денег, — спокойно пояснил Иуда. — Это деньги, пожертвованные благочестивыми людьми на храм, — сказал Анна, быстро оглянувшись и ещё быстрее подставив глазам Иуды свой розоватый лысый затылок. — Но разве благочестивые люди умеют отличить фальшивое от настоящего? Это умеют только мошенники. «Иуда Искариот», Леонид Андреев. я не нормис но и не нитакуся. — полина савиных. It didn't come for free. by Ethan Hawke.