Mariya Mincheva

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”
― Albert Camus

“If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!”
― Rudyard Kipling, If: A Father's Advice to His Son

“Природата е много хубава по туй време. Балканът. Гората е толкоз зелена, полюшва ся едва-едва, шуми леко. Мирише на младост. И цяла е в светлина. Светлоструй… Не ми са обикаля с тая дружина. Ще ми ся ей тъй да тръгна из гората, из полетата, без цел и посока, да вървя туй от място на място – не че някъде определено отивам, ами ей така. Да ся скитам. Като някой циганьор дори. Иде ми да зарежа дружината , и револуцията, и ей така да тръгна да ся скитам из гората, да ся пека на камънаците като някой смок, да ся търкалям из тревите. Да пия от кладенците и като ся нагорещя, да си плискам лицето с вода от потоците. Да лежа тъй в тревата с разперени ръце и да гледам нагоре в небето. Без всякоя цел. Защо светът е хубав! Много хубав дори! Очарователна работа! Неизразима!”
― Милен Русков, Възвишение

“To survive, you must tell stories.”
― Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before