I love people, everybody.
Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love's not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I'll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time..
It is not only a cry
It seemed I was always crying for what I’d had once and lost.
Sayfa 313Kitabı okuyor
One of the ironies of the history of the Kurds is that it has always been the educated elite who have dreamt of freedom, of a state of their own, of a Kurdistan transcending borders: yet it has always been the tribes who have had real power, the ability to change things, and there has always been an antagonism between the two groups.
Sayfa 109Kitabı okuyor
Perhaps it is bad French; French may not contain the words that express the speaker's thoughts; nevertheless speaking French imposes some order, some uniformity.
Sayfa 101
Yirmi yıl kadar önce, National Geographic dergisi ilginç bir harita eki vermişti. Hari- tada hangi ülkelerde hangi halkların yaşadığı gösteriliyordu. Tür- kiye'den çıkan okun ucundaki yazı diğerlerinden farklıydı. "It is not clear what it is to be a Turk (Türk olmanın ne olduğu açık de- ğildir)."
Sayfa 149 - MetisKitabı okuyor
"in whatever manner it comes to be, love is never wrong, especially between one who has so much of it to give, and one so desperately in need of it"
It is a well-known fact that a single man with lots of money must be in need of a wife. He may not know this, but neighbours with unmarried daughters are rather sure of it.
’Tis strange, but true, for truth is always strange,
Stranger than fiction. If it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!
How oft would vice and virtue places change!
The new world would be nothing to the old.
"I was nothing in the presence of nothing, and I was calm, trusting, confident. For how lovely it is for a person to be nothing, only once, no more!"
Sayfa 65 - archipelago books, journal, translated from the Arabic by Catherine CobhamKitabı okuyor
"The decision whether or not to bear a child is central to a woman's life, to her wellbeing and dignity. It's a decision she must make for herself"
Ruth Bader Ginsburg
"What shape a tree grows into is definitely dependent on the gardener. There's a good proverb: a person should suffer as soon as possible. The earlier a person suffers, the more it will temper their will. Grass that grows in the wild has to endure the tempering of wind and frost as soon as it's born. The reaping of blades, the trampling of horses, it goes through cycles of growth and decline in order to survive. But a flower raised in the imperial greenhouses for eighteen years will wither upon a single night's frost"
L. C
Quora
Postmodernism is an intellectual dead end; it’s central premise seems to be derived from a saying of Nietzsche’s, “There are no facts; only interpretations”, which is thought to mean that each one of us views “reality” through our individual perspective. This is true to a degree, but as with so many aphorisms, there are limits to its validity;
Bu kadar uzun süredir sağlam olduğunu düşündüğünüz bir ilişkiden ayrıldıktan sonra bir kadının neden sizi bu kadar çabuk unutabildiğini hiç merak ettiniz mi? Onun için değişmesini umduğu istismarcı erkek arkadaşına neden geri döndüğünü hiç merak ettiniz mi? Kadınsı tekbencilikten başka bir yere bakmayın.
Ever wonder why it is a woman can ‘get over you’ so quickly after a break up from a relationship you’d thought was rock solid for so long? Ever wonder why she returns to the abusive boyfriend she hopes will change for her? Look no further than feminine solipsism.
Sayfa 132Kitabı okuyor
Aggggh I'm crying ｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡
“Forgive me,” he said again. “I did not want it. It was not you. I did not—I did not like it.”
Hearing it soothed the last of the jagged grief that had begun when
Deidameia shouted his name. My throat was thick with the beginning of
tears. “There is nothing to forgive,” I said.
