“Human. Happiness. Death.Everything becomes one palememory in the flow of time.Spirit - always want the impossible and feel pain. Memory - an attempt to find entirety in the endless parodycalled human life. Freedom, policy, power, sex, violence, destruction, war. All extremes of ego are unconscious rebellion against death and loneliness. When you realize, the meaning is lost. I just want to believe:when I die, I will flying like a bird... or like dream...”

“„Maybe the happiness is out there...Like déjà vu. In another time, where all consciousness feel, that the beauty still exists. Where the people have forgotten the pain in the past and death. Where the demons are dead. Where everything is clear. Where you can see the magic of life, like mesmerizing, ghostly mist in the dark of being…”.”

“…I wonder what actually this hospital is, why I am in it and who I am. I have no time to find out. I die, with my arms stretched towards the spotlights.Then whiteness.My body is still there somewhere…Buried in the extremely bright lights of empty hope.”

“Maybe there is something. Something deep. Something in border of physical and incomprehensible. Something unknowable. Something completely beyond of all psychological, logical and scientific definitions about human. Something, for which the death is no irreversible limit.Something so strange and absurd.Something infinite and eternal in Homo Sapiens. Never - dying fire. The human spirit".”

“I know…I will never see or meet her again, because she is just a ghost from my dreams. In spite of this, she remains with me as a spark of hope. Because when she throws herself desperately into my arms and my hands embrace her, for the first and last time in my life I feel true love”.”

“This is that old well known man, for who I understood that one morning he puts the pistol in his mouth and put the trigger. He is dead right here. But he would never die in that dream. And I will never stop ask myself why I woke up, and how exactly has finished “This is that old well known man, for who I understood that one morning he puts the pistol in his mouth and put the trigger. He is dead right here. But he would never die in that dream. And I will never stop ask myself why I woke up, and how exactly has finished the strange feast”.”

“So long time has passed since those days, and since that story, which is still vivid in my memory, and even more vivid than all the rest. Some times I stay alone in my work - room here, in my father's old mansion in Pasadena, and I look through the old, yellow pages again and again. Then I go back to the north part which is furnished in my style, with many colored Bulgarian carpets and blankets (special kind of Bulgarian blankets with long fur), I make my coffee in a cooper coffee - pot, which has been brought from there, and my thoughts wonder to those absurd memories of mine...Very often some friends ask me - what is that unusual memories of yours? I can't explain to them, better say I don't want to, and I always avoid the answer by saying - a la Bulgaro - in a Bulgarian way..."Oh, yes, yes"...”