Bulgarian Poet Quotes

If it’s not immortal, it cannot be love, said the poet, but the people, each know better, how exactly they should swim, in each sea, yet they are fatter, none they hear, advice with full. The way up is easy – you love till the end, and you sing your song, till you can be there, in Heaven, alone.

Chidren wish for a world pristine, poets, to think, need a sheet that is clean, clean, if, the sky, means the weather is good, clear water - a mirror, reflects, like it should, clear thoughts make for a clearer mind, clean must be every creature, in kind, over every forest, the air is clean, every tree has its own dream…

She shook her hair in the cool breeze and inhaled, the scents of lavender and rose and jasmine sweet in the lucent air. They passed fields where delicately scented rosa centifolia bushes grew. "How was the rose crop this year?" "Excellent. We had a mild spring and a generous rainfall. Twenty to twenty-five blossoms on every branch. Our rose was indeed the 'queen of the flowers' this year, to quote the Greek poet Sappho." He lifted his chin and peered at her down his nose. "Our rose de mai is expensive, Danieeele, but far superior to others." Laughter bubbled in her throat. "Your Gallic pride is showing, Philippe." He expressed a puff of air between pursed lips. "Bulgaria? Morocco? You can't tell me their roses are better than mine." "Just different," she said with patience. "Moroccan roses have a rich perfume, and Bulgaria's Valley of the Roses produces lovely damascena roses scented with a brilliant tinge of pear.

Communists work for free, slaves for yellow pennies! Only we Bulgarians work…for Bat Boyko! Sinners die of their vices, and saints of…. God’s love!?! Bat Roscoe PoetЪ 2024