A Writer In Someone Who

The Gap Between Compassion And Surrender Is Love’s Darkest, Deepest Region.

I Think A Lot About The Poems I Wasn't Able To Write...i Masturbrated...solitude Is Essentially A Matter Of Pride; You Bury Yourself In Your Own Scent. The Issue Is The Same For All Real Poets. If You've Been Happy For Too Long, You Become Banal. By The Same Token, If You've Been Unhappy For A Long Time, You Lose Your Poetic Power...happiness And Poverty Can Only Coexist For The Briefest Time. Afterword Either Happiness Coarsens The Poet Or The Poem Is So True It Destroys His Happiness.

Mankind's Greatest Error, The Biggest Deception Of The Past Thousand Years Is This: To Confuse Poverty With Stupidity.

There's Been Quite A Clear Upswing In Nationalist Sentiments. Everyone Is Talking About It, In Turkey As Well.

It Was In Cihangir That I First Learned Istanbul Was Not An Anonymous Multitude Of Walled-in Lives - A Jungle Of Apartments Where No One Knew Who Was Dead Or Who Was Celebrating What - But An Archipelago Of Neighbourhoods In Which Everyone Knew Each Other.