Stay Signed In
Do you want to access your site more quickly on this computer? Check this box, and your username and password will be remembered for two weeks. Click logout to turn this off.
Stay Safe
Do not check this box if you are using a public computer. You don't want anyone seeing your personal info or messing with your site.
"Lubil li sum! Ne! ...Ochi zakulnete se, che do taq nosht ne ste vijdali takava hubost"- Romeo i Julieta
"Ne ti pojelavam tova-
no moje i teb da nastigne takuv edin den, neprivetliv i studen, kogato i tvoqta gorda glava pred neshto shte se svede, kogato v celiq svqt golqm izvednuj shte se vidish sam...kato vruh , ot slunceto izgoren...
Ne ti pojelavam tova-
no ot vsichki jeni krai teb shte ti potrqbva samo edna i nqma da q namerish. Ne nai-krasivata, ne nai-ymnata, ne tazi, sled koqto shte se obrushtat, edna obiknovena i mulchaliva, prosto edna- Tvoq naistina, vinagi nova i vinagi sushtata. ne znae dali pone togava surceto ti shte me povika. No moje taka da se sluchi, che da ne ti otvurne nikoi- da te chuq, no da ne se otzova..
Ne ti pojelavam tova!"
"Kak trudno e da se ysmihvash, kogato sulzite napirat, kogato v tebe vsichko spira i pred ochite ti se slivat i hora , i ochi, i pqsuk... Kogato vqturut te shiba... W gurdite ti napira krqsuk, a gordostta go spira...spira..."
"TIHO V JIVOTA TI SE VTUKAH -NISHKA PO NISHKA, NEZABELQZANO- ALA TAKA, CHE AKO POISKAT DA NI RAZDELQT, TRQBVA CELIQ DA TE RAZNISHTQT ILI S NOJ DA ME OTSEKAT...."
" To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-- Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd."
" My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hair be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,-
My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground;
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare." William Shakespeare
