КубГУ , 2005, Очное отделение, Студентка (бакалавр)
Факультет: Романо-германской филологии
Кафедра: Английской филологии

"P.S. I love you", "Se7en", "The life of David Gale", "The Illusionist, " "August Rush", "Magnolia", "Seven Pounds, " "Sixth Sense", "Leon", "The reader", "Revolutionary Road", "When Harry met Sally", "Little Children", "Sweet November", "The Shawshank Redemption", "One Flew over the Cuckoo's nest", "pulp Fiction", "American Beauty", "The Pianist", "The Green Mile", "Crash", "Lock, Stock and Two Smocking Barrels", "Good Will Hunting", "Man on Fire", K-PAX, My sister's keeper, A Single Man

"From the Teeth of Angels", "Arch of Triumph", "Odinochestvo v seti", "My Sister's Keeper", "The marriage of Sticks", "Hunting and Gathering ", "Rodichi", "She's come undone.", "Tri tovarisha", "The book thief"

"I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time... For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars... And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined my street... Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper... And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand new Firebird... And Janie... And Janie... And... Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday."

And these are my vices: impatience, bad temper, wine, the more than occasional cigarette, an almost unquenchable thirst to be kissed, a hunger that isn’t hunger but something like fear, a staunching of dread and a taste for bitter gossip of those who’ve wronged me—for bitterness— and flirting with strangers and saying sweetheart to children whose names I don’t even know and driving too fast and not being Buddhist enough to let insects live in my house or those cute little toy like mice whose soft grey bodies in sticky traps I carry, lifeless, out to the trash and that I sometimes prefer the company of a book to a human being, and humming and living inside my head and how as a girl I trailed a slow-hipped aunt at twilight across the lawn and learned to catch fireflies in my hands, to smear their sticky, still-pulsing flickering onto my fingers and earlobes like jewels. Cecilia Woloch