In general, praise this book for how it honestly and openly showed the shitty nature of man.  We have always known that man is a monster, and now we have another one of the 100,500 proofs of this profound thought, which we have never doubted before.  However, the question remains " what to do next?"  How to make shit human?  A man is a form of shit, how to give shit the form of a man?  Can a form identify crappy content?  They say form determines content, but can it change the nature of that content?

And you do not sprinkle the ashes of fear on your head.  Control yourself.  Fear is dirty and will smear you with soot. 

Why does the jealous hurt?  Very painful for a jealous person.  It is unbearably painful for a jealous person that someone else's hands touch and use what he considers his own.  This man fancies himself possessive, he fancies himself God.  It's pride, a direct ticket to hell.  It's fair, it's right.  A jealous man should burn in hell.  If you see a jealous man, you can give him a boot on the hare.  It will be a godly act.  The more the jealous one howls  from the pain, the more the Angels In Paradise rejoice.  The devil's favorite pastime is to skin a jealous man and then sew him back on alive.  And the Devils are sitting in a circle, laughing, rejoicing, having fun with them.

Many books show the reader what to expect from yourself and what to be afraid of.  Man is a monster, and the mind must never forget that.  The mind and the unconscious, who constantly argue, who is evil and who is good, and constantly changing places.

There is a sweet emptiness in my soul, good and thoughtless.  That's their ideal.  They get drunk like cattle, mutter something, sing drunkenness as the highest good.  I agree.  Alcohol is a great tool that separates the wheat from the chaff.  Fortunately there is, not a single creature crawling past Vice will crawl into paradise and will not dirty its dirty feet there.  Did you ask how God punishes people?  So he punishes them with his own hands.  The proud and ignorant, through the slavery of vices, fall into hell, and they can not get out of there by any means.  La-La-La.  Tell me, cool idea?

Pouring oats into the trough, the devil walked in circles and kicked the worm-like people to the feeder.  Armless, legless, blind as maggots swarmed drunken people.  The drunks growled, bit each other, tried to crawl closer to the trough and grab at least a little oats with their toothless muzzle.  For some reason in hell there is no other food, except oats, but it is not terrible.  Wormy people get fat from oats, and can live like this for eternity.

In the cast-iron clink, the head swells, the legs are shamelessly spread out, the tongue like a living worm falls out of the mouth and crawls to the glass.  The glass is empty.

Aaaaaaaa, a wail of agony-filled pain could be heard.  It is after the tongue that some gurgling sounds come out of the mouth.  Do you know who I am?  I am the small voice of your soul, I am the whisper of your subconscious.  I know all your sins.  I see right through you.  You know, when you howl in pain and terror, I'm filled with laughter and joy.  I enjoy it when you suffer.  I love it when sinners howl in pain.  Pain is good.  From this moment to the end of Eternity, you are now cursed.  Welcome to hell.

I closed my eyes and saw the field.  The field is littered with heads like cabbages.  Heads poke out of the field, eyes gawk, their lips twist and whine.  Drink…  Drink.  There are no hands and feet on the heads, who will give them to drink.  In hell, alcoholics do not stand on ceremony, the devil has a good sense of humor, he likes to laugh at the flawed.

A half-crushed, dying Leech crawled over the body.  All the blood was drained from the Leech.  Leech all his life reveled in blood, thought she was drinking, but in fact, drank it.  The Leech writhed in its last agony and died.  The naive slug thought death was salvation, but no.  Death is only the beginning of torment.

The positive meaning that we can draw from the work "quiet Don", I would express the idea that although a person is shit, but not only. in a pile of shit, which is a person by nature, if you try very hard, you can always find something good.

The attainment of truth comes from the denial of falsehood.  Most of the popular books I've read show you how you can't live.  If you do the opposite  from what is written in popular books, you can become quite a happy person.  That is, books are an expression of human pride, which is written to feed the pride of other people.  Pride writes for pride.  Vanity writes for Vanity.  Vice praises vice.  That's fine, and we should take advantage of our enemy's strength to turn it against him.  All words are reversed, remember that.

Slurping, slurping, eating people.  Saliva mixed with fat runs down his chin, coiling like a snake around his neck.  Awkward thick as a sausage tongue does not fit  in my mouth.  People eat and drink, glazed eyes like blind.  I look through those eyes and there's nothing there, no soul.  Empty bodies, thin as balloons, the shells of which were left by the spirit of the one called God.  If the empty shells of men stop eating and drinking even for a moment, they will close and disappear.

Sweat poured out from under his hair like a torrential rain, blurring his bulging eyes.  The red man struggled to speak, but couldn't.  I looked at the man curiously, trying to guess if he was just mumbling or howling.  from some endless pain eating at him from within.  I could feel the heat emanating from the man who was on fire inside.  Fill the fire with alcohol?  No way!  He didn't put out the fire.  He fed him!  Lord fire required his slave to feed himself.

In slaves of VICE, for example, alcoholics, there is no God.  God spills out of them, God does not accumulate in them.  Vices come and devour them  God, leaving nothing at all to his slaves.  In fact, the slave of VICE is a cattle that Vice keeps in order to suck blood, Energy, life force from it.

The drunkard's eyes stare at the bottle of wine with dead intensity.  What does the dead man think?  What dreams?  Was he dreaming?  They only dream of peace, there is no rest for the dead in hell.  Alcoholics go to hell under two articles at once – as murderers and as suicides.  An alcoholic is a person who first kills  God, and then myself.  In essence, denying reality is murder.  Escape from reality is suicide.

I feel the tempting desire of Vice.  I feel no strength to restrain myself.  I feel an irresistible power rushing from my chest.  I know the dam can't hold the flow.  Experience suggests that you need to surrender and imagine that you submitted to Vice and did what he asked, and then also have time to cry.  That is, I go straight to the stage of morning repentance.  Vice is dull, it almost does not distinguish reality from fantasy.

They drank without clinking glasses, just drank.  Saliva dripped onto the floor.  A red face like a hot frying pan smacked its lips as it sucked in air.  A slimy purple tongue protruded from its mouth and spat out unintelligible words.  Suddenly the floor swayed, arching, turning into a quicksand.  "Sinking, sinking!" screamed the red face, and fell right into the underground.  From the Infernal underground, flames spread in all directions, devouring tables, chairs, furniture, people and children.  I felt especially sorry for the children.  The children squealed especially plaintively.

There was a man sitting at the table, humming and waving his arms like a madman.  Something seemed to be tearing at the inside of the man, something trying to get out, to crawl out of his mouth, to leak out of his ears, to break the glass, to jump out of his eyes.  The demon wants to tear a person from the inside, he demands a glass of vodka.  Drink the devil I want no urine.  The devil sits inside a person, pulls all sorts of levers, turns the wheels, tries to force the body to pour it into a glass of vodka, bring it to his lips and drink.  Yes, only either The Devil is already drunk, or the body is broken, but something does not work out anything.

In the "quiet don"  Sholokhov was able to show how small and big equally affects a person's life.  Revolutions that destroy the world, and the destruction of relations between people, it seems the scale of actions is incommensurable, but the effect on the souls of people is about the same.

Anyone who dreams of a war to the bitter end is doomed to lose.  It is necessary to fight so that at any moment to be ready to stop.  In the civil war after the 1917 revolution in Russia, the Whites lost because they wanted to fight the war to a victorious end and the Reds were forced to destroy them.  The Reds were willing to settle for much less than they got in the end. 

Analyzing the plot of the "Quiet Don", I realized that the original cause of human suffering is fear, indecision and unconsciousness.  Mindfulness is when a person understands his passionate desires and is not afraid to follow them.  Passion still wins, but it wins late and causes a lot of problems.

Happiness is a passion, but you need to be able to use passion.  You can't turn passion into a thirst for power.  It is impossible to allow the burning out of passion through overkill and drug addiction.  With passion, you need to keep your distance and not strive to exhaust it, but, on the contrary, you should stretch it, defragmenting it in time.  The meaning of passion is to serve passion, not to turn it into your pleasure and drug.  You should love passion, not your pleasure  from passion.

The reason for fatigue is rest.  Those who rest too much have no time to work.  Accordingly, he does not have time for anything, he must hurry in everything.  And how does he rest?  He sits, thinks about something, yearns, makes him sick of something, smokes cigarettes, dreams, lies, sleeps, looks somewhere, admires something, plays or drinks.  In a word, a finished man, the worm of pride has devoured his soul, it's time to kick him out of the house, because he's as useless as a goat of milk.

Wisdom is the knowledge and experience of when to persist in a conflict and when to retreat

The strength of a man is characterized by bullish persistence.  You can't stop this with words.  Such a person didn't care about insults and words.  Such a person bends his line like an ox furrow in a field, and sows seeds, patiently waiting for them to rise.  Rains, frosts and storms will not stop this.

The closer a person is to death, the older you feel.  By the way, the proud are very close to death, because they think they are perfect, so they feel old.  Perfection is one of the names of death.  Another synonym for death is fear.  The more fears there are in a person's life, the older he feels.  To pacify pride and fear means to rejuvenate the soul.

All true negative feelings should  hide under a funny joke.

Everyone is so proud of their memory, and I don't like a good memory.  I have complaints about memory, very big complaints.  If you remember everything, then live like wolves and howl like wolves.  Memory is especially vindictive and touchy.  Memory is the servant of resentment, fear and pride.  Memory is an idolater, and I have big complaints about idolaters.

They say that old debts need to be paid in full.  The bastards are lying!  Old debts are depreciated by time and eventually completely forgiven.  And those who remember old debts, let them poke out their eyes and fall into hell.

In the works "The Quiet Don" and "Gone with the Wind"  The age of the characters surprises me the most.  The characters there are very young, but they feel very old, experienced and wise.  I am much older than these people, but I feel much younger than them.  As I noticed  Seneca, wisdom is a blessing, and being wise and wise by experience is not a blessing at all.  It should be simpler.  Too much experience and mind complicates everything, giving rise to pride and suffering.

The idol treats his idolater with slight pity and contempt, and he with dog devotion cleans his idol's boots and greedily looks for the slightest approval on his face.  The biggest dream of an idolater is to become an idol himself and make the former idol clean his boots.  If the idol gives up and becomes very dependent on the idol worshipper, then these two will quickly switch places.

The secret is to remain vigilant and always be determined to fight.  To be attuned to the struggle means not to be afraid of the struggle and to know that it is possible at any moment.  The enemy is not asleep, and you be careful.

I read Sholokhov's "Quiet Don" to the end and thought that all our fears and hardships were all nonsense, and it made me feel light and joyful.