Festina Lente (hurry In Slowly)

I've Read There Is No Such Thing As A Single Tear, That Old Poetic Trope. And Perhaps There Isn't, Since Hers Was Simply A Companion To My Own.

What Comes To Your Mind When You Think Of The Word Transylvania, If You Ponder It At All? What Comes To My Mind Are Mountains Of Savage Beauty, Ancient Castles, Werewolves, And Witches - A Land Of Magical Obscurity. How, In Short, Am I To Believe I Will Still Be In Europe, On Entering Such A Realm? I Shall Let You Know If It's Europe Or Fairyland, When I Get There. First, Snagov - I Set Out Tomorrow.

I Love To Cook And I've Cooked A Lot Of Bulgarian Food Over The Years.

I Believe In Walking Out Of A Museum Before The Paintings You've Seen Begin To Run Together. How Else Can You Carry Anything Away With You In Your Mind's Eye?

Never Before Had I Known The Sudden Quiver Of Understanding That Travels From Word To Brain To Heart, The Way A New Language Can Move, Coil, Swim Into Life Under The Eyes, The Almost Savage Leap Of Comprehension, The Instantaneous, Joyful Release Of Meaning, The Way The Words Shed Their Printed Bodies In A Flash Of Heat And Light.