“…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.”

“I am again in the present and awake. I close my eyes and am desperately trying to recapture the childhood memory. Now, however, I have to cross an abyss….”

“-This is really a very deep and maybe hopeless winter night – I say on me foolishly.My fear hasn’t disappeared. This time however, I feel the slight cold from the snowflakes on my face and I am smiling.”

“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”.”

“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...”

“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"...”