“ I can meet that many people on Instagram in an hour.’
‘Exactly. Not healthy! Our brains can’t handle it. Which is why we crave face-to-face communication more than ever. ”
“She had thought, in her nocturnal and suicidal hours, that solitude was the problem. But that was because it hadn’t been true solitude. The lonely mind in the busy city yearns for connection because it thinks human-to-human connection is the point of everything. But amid pure nature (or the ‘tonic of wildness’ as Thoreau called it) solitude took on a different character. It became in itself a kind of connection. A connection between herself and the world. And between her and herself.”
It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!
Albus DumbledoreKitabı okuyacak
I was foolish. Forgive me. Of course I love you. But it is not important. Try to be happy.
Sayfa 31 - Mk publications, the rose
'Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes.'
Sayfa 219Kitabı okudu
It’s not her shape, her face, or her hair that makes her beautiful.
Neither is it the smoothness of her skin, the boldness when she stands or the perseverance in her heart.
But the condition of her heart, the gratitude she lives by and her love for God.
Friedrich Nietzsche, The free spirit
" There is some point of to 'truth' , to the search for truth; and if a human being goes about it too humanely - i wager he finds nothing!"
Sayfa 66Kitabı okudu
Güvensiz, kıskanç insanlarla dolu bir dünyada yaşıyoruz. Bazıları bizim en iyi arkadaşlarımız. Onlar kan akrabalarıdır. Başarısızlık onları korkutur. Başarımız da öyle. Çünkü bir zamanlar mümkün olduğunu düşündüğümüz şeyi aştığımızda, sınırlarımızı zorladığımızda ve daha fazlası olduğumuzda, ışığımız onların etraflarına ördüğü tüm duvarlardan yansır. Işığınız onların kendi hapishanelerinin hatlarını, kendi sınırlarını görmelerini sağlıyor. Ama gerçekten her zaman inandığınız gibi harika insanlarsa, kıskançlıkları gelişecek ve yakında hayal güçleri çitin üzerinden atlayabilir ve daha iyisi için değişme sırası onlarda olacaktır.
We live in a world full of insecure, jealous people. Some of them are our best friends. They are blood relatives. Failure scares them. So is our success. Because when we exceed what we once thought was possible, when we push our limits and become more, our light reflects off all the walls they have built around themselves. Your light allows them to see the lines of their own prisons, their own limits. But if they really are the wonderful people you always believed they were, their jealousy will develop and soon their imaginations may jump over the fence and it will be their turn to change for the better.
To be in touch with truth, we do not have to go to the core of the galaxy, because the core of a human being is also the same thing.
The 17th century Turkish traveler Evliya Celebi described the population of the Steppe Crimea as follows: They always eat meat. They eat the meat of every animal, and dress in its skin, that is, they make a fur coat out of it.... mixing blood with millet, they drink the blood of every animal like stew. There are also several thousand Tatars who have never drunk water in their lives.
This is your reality. Hurry up and accept it.
Chin degenin ne eken o kelishtirsen,
Chindan chekman tikermen, erishtirsen.
What is a chin, if you know how to put it together, If you make me mad, I'll sew a shepherd's jacket out of chin.
Activists believe that the population of emigre Tatar communities is far greater than that of the parent group itself. This belief derives from the
estimates of the Crimean Khanate's population and the subsequent out-migrations.! Whether or not this statement is accurate, it reflects the self-image of emigre Tatars.
While it is much smaller than those described above, the most vociferous emigre Crimean Tatar community exists in the United States, where it is largely concentrated in the metropolitan New York area and is composed of five to eight hundred families. 29 Around two hundred families are World War II refugees, who immigrated to the United States during the
1960s.
I hate this girl so much!
Something weird is happening to me. My chest is sore, and my eyes feel immense pressure, and they’re… wet. I think I might be crying for the first time in my life.
She opens the door, but I rush in front of her, blocking her exit as I drop to my knees and grab her hands. “Olivia,” I whisper clearly. “Please don’t leave me. Please stay with me.”
Her sadness is all over her face—she’s looking at me like I’m the one breaking her heart, her eyes following a tear as it slides down my cheek.
“Please,” I beg. “Accept my v-version of love. Pl-ease. I love you, Ol-l-l—”
Olivia doesn’t tell me she loves me back, or that she’ll stay. She just gives me a warm smile and pulls her hand away before squeezing past me.
