The last lesson of russian literature

The day begun with the question: go or not go to the study? Finally I got up, made exercises and ran out to the foggy streets. What refreshing exterior it is! Foggy Sunday morning! How calm and peaceful it is! The only desire at such moments is to stay outdoors and breath. But I conscientiously went to the uni.

The teacher declaired extracts from “Fathers and sons” with great artistry. We could imagine every little details and the whole drama. She made different voices and accents on some gestures. Some people are great actors. (How can I learn this?)

During the lesson as usual I observed a girl at the front table. This time she wore loose black jamper and long skirt with brown boots with fur. After the study I greeted her, asked silly questions. She began to told about the film she watched yesterday and the book. Something about rude language of non-russian writers. All the time I tryed to use my russian better, more subtle and weigh every word. I realized that it was a rare moment with a peer I felt the necessity of improvements. And this actually what I really like in connection. The sense of ability to do something better than before and willing to correct some skills. Regretfully, it could be the last time we met (but who know) as my exam at next Friday.

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Anyway, this another literature’s lesson shown me that my own skill of percieving fine arts is a bit straightforward, a bit scientifically pragmatical. Even though I still evade the status of bookish girl, my understanding and vision should be more clear and profound.

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Books

I’m still here and going to write anything. You know this is the one of my daily points and despite emptiness there should be something.

The weather is so sunny today that I can feel warmth of it’s rays on me. Let me be an enthusuast today, give me some strenght to continue my preparation and not give up at the middle of the way. This is the process of breaking. I know that those are my obligations, but I feel a bit tired with all their ethical ideas.

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It seems so far away from the life while there is no life. They all speak things that are near to the truth but being near it doesn’t penetrate into me as a clear idea how to modify my own life to be better. The modern self-development books really more helpful than Dostoevsky’s. At least for me. And there is the question is fiction book a place for declaring ideas or it is more a piece of art. And does it really fruitful to convey notions through fiction? As for me scintific facts can change my behaviour more than tales. Thought tales have their own power on my mind and mood, it can’t change the life. Absolutely. It’s not about how to be happy and prosperous, it is rather research of life as a process than the leader. Nobody presume to understand politic after reading a fiction book about politicians’ lives, it’s rediculous.

However, fiction is about stories and the meaning they have.

Cartoon days. Some literature

Despite the greyness out of the window and all my walks for some tea, the day is good. I put myself together and had done the great deal of writing issue about creativity (would be mended). Some moments it seemed like a disaster, like dark eye watching inside, but then positive light covered that. Frankly I had been breathed hard to the evening and decided to make a run across the main street.
There was cold wind what was blowing every building in the twilight.
Later I get the email from tutor, he wrote me about skyline on the sketches and immediately I had done two new ones. More thoughtful I think. As usual, the last sketch seems to me the best. I hope this is so!