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Quote by Андрей Ильенков

“Сравниться с ПХД может только наряд на кухню, но там все сразу обожрутся — дышать плохо, ходить того хуже, и уже трудовая страда не в радость. А трудовая — она страда, потому что на ПХД работают все без исключения. Ну, неодинаково, конечно. Одни перетаскивают кровати и моют пол, другие перетаскивают то же самое и носят первым воду, третьи подметают и крошат мыло, четвёртые — тоже крошат мыло рядом с третьими, но с ними не подметают, пятые — всеми командуют и всем показывают, как делать. Ну, шестые командуют пятыми. Ну, пускай седьмые дают общие указания шестым, сверху, так сказать. Но даже те, кто лишь пьёт в каптёрке чиф, помнят о ПХД. Пьют и помнят. Никто не остаётся совершенно в стороне.”

Quote by Андрей Ильенков

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Несгибаемая рота, или Сны полка

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Андрей Ильенков

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“After Twiss went out the barn, Milly went up to their bedroom with the brown paper bag. She looked out the window before she turned it upside down and the bars of lavender soap shaped like seashells and the card shaped like a rectangle came tumbling out. Asa's name graced the front of the card. A note graced the back. 'I know why you did it, Milly. Bella swings a golf club just like him.' Milly sat a long time on her old twin mattress, staring at the fleur-de-lis carved into the headboard, at the life that didn't belong to her and the life that did, before she placed the soaps beneath the velvet tray in her jewelry box and closed it. She never washed her hands with a single one of the seashell-shaped soaps, although from time to time, when Twiss had gone for a walk or to the barn, she'd open her jewelry box and examine her only secret. 'La joie de vivre.' The scent of lavender. Forgiveness. Age-old love.”

“Her hand closed on a smooth, round object, something resembling a marble egg. It was a miniature bar of lotus soap, still in its wrapper, bought on their last trip to the 'hammam'. The public bathhouse had been a favorite spot of theirs, a place the three of them liked to go to on Thursdays, the day before the Iranian weekend. Marian held the soap to her nose. She took a deep breath, inhaling the downy scent of mornings spent washing and scrubbing with rosewater and lotus products. All at once she heard the laughter once again, the giggles of women making the bathing ritual a party more than anything else. The 'hammam' they had attended those last years in Iran was situated near their apartment in central Tehran. Although not as palatial as the turquoise and golden-domed bathhouse of their childhood, it was still a grand building of hot pools and steamy balconies, a place of gossip and laughter. The women of the neighborhood would gather there weekly to untangle their long hair with tortoiseshell combs and lotus powder, a silky conditioner that left locks gleaming like onyx uncovered. For pocket change, a 'dalak' could be hired by the hour. These bathhouse attendants, matronly and humorous for all their years spent whispering local chatter, would scrub at tired limbs with loofahs and mitts of woven Caspian seaweed. Massages and palm readings accompanied platters of watermelon and hot jasmine tea, the afternoons whiled away with naps and dips in the perfumed aqueducts regulated according to their hot and cold properties.”

“Different skin types require different types of cleanser, but there is one common cleanser nobody should ever use: common bar soap. Soap often contains a drying surfactant called sodium lauryl sulfate, which can leave a film on your skin that feels uncomfortable, strip it of essential oils, and deplete moisture. Even worse, drying your skin can increase the appearance of wrinkles.”