benim 1k ile love-hate ilişkisiAlıntı
Her şey bir rüzgar gibiydi ve rüzgarla sona erdi. Sona erecek. Daracık sokaklarda tek başıma yürüyorum. Herkes gitmiş. Bir daha buraya gelmemeye hangi yaz ant içtim? Çok sonra mı, şimdi mi?
şu ayağı yere basmayan cümlelerle adama saldırmak.. neyse..
He learnt ball-room dancing, methodically with a teacher, and then danced whenever possible, but always as if he was on parade. He frequented the drawing-rooms and tried to become the society gallant, making love to the ladies of Sofia, but they found him excessively gauche. He was a smartly turned-out and wellset-up Turkish officer and that was all. They had no liking for Turks, at any time, and Mustafa Kemal was neither good-looking nor attractive. His manners were crude. Either he stalked stiffly about with his face set and grey, or he talked abruptly. He had no small talk, no easy gallantry or ready flattery. He understood nothing of the pleasant play of light flirtation. He bluntly demanded that each lady should bed with him; if she refused he ceased to be interested, but, as bluntly, asked another. For a short time he was half in love with a fluffy-haired pretty girl, the daughter of General Kovatchev, but she gave him the cold shoulder. Very soon the ladies found him an uncouth fellow, the traditional Tartar in contrast to Fethi, the suave, polite, easygoing
Turk. They laughed at his dancing and his attempts to learn the drawing-room manner. They found him a prodigious bore and forgot him.
And Mustafa Kemal, touchy and sensitive, became more lofty and aloof than ever. He began to hate the society women with their soft ways and their chatter, who would not make love wholeheartedly and yet teased and tormented his desire, who sneered at him, and who would not make a hero of him.
With men-and especially men who were deferential-and with the loose women of the capital, Mustafa Kemal was far more at ease. With these, in the cafes and the brothels, he drank and revelled night after night far into the dawn. He gambled and diced for hours against anyone who would sit
📚🔔 Tatil zili çaldı!
Bir yıl boyunca verilen emeklerin ardından şimdi dinlenme, keşfetme ve yeni maceralara atılma zamanı. 🌞
Bu yaz bol kahkahalı, bol anılı ve elbette bol kitaplı geçsin. Tüm öğrencilere keyifli tatiller diliyoruz! 💙📖
Cling to your soul with love, fear, contempt, and hate, but and don’t let her out of your sight. She is a hellish-divine treasure to be kept behind walls of iron and in the deepest vault. She always wants to get out and scatter glittering beauty. Beware, because you have already been betrayed! You’ll never find a more disloyal, more cunning and heinous woman, never a rougher and more infamous man than your soul—you will never see anyone more beautiful, nobler, and more complete than your soul. Shield men from her, and her from men.
(Sevgi, korku, hor görme ve nefretle ruhuna sıkı sıkı sarıl, ama onu gözünün önünden ayırma. O, demir duvarların ardında ve en derin kasada saklanması gereken cehennemsel-ilahi bir hazinedir. O her zaman dışarı çıkıp ışıltılı güzelliğini etrafa saçmak ister. Dikkat et, çünkü çoktan ihanete uğradın! Ruhundan daha sadakatsiz, daha kurnaz ve iğrenç bir kadın, daha kaba ve daha kötü şöhretli bir erkek asla bulamayacaksın; ruhundan daha güzel, daha asil ve daha eksiksiz birini de asla göremeyeceksin. İnsanları ondan, onu da insanlardan koru.)
Women do not love like thatAlıntı
He lied to me, and shall I for that reason loathe what I love, and what I worshipped, hate? I think we women do not love like that.
But hold up for a minute: who is this “we” that’s always turning up in
critical writing? We is an escape hatch. We is cheap. We is a way of simultaneously sloughing off personal responsibility and taking on the mantle of easy authority. It’s the voice of the middlebrow male critic, the one who truly believes he knows how everyone else should think. We is corrupt. We is make-believe. The real question is this: can I love the art but hate the artist? Can you?
When I say “we,” I mean I. I mean you.
‘I hate and I love. And if you ask me how,
I do not know: I only feel it, and
I’m torn in two.’
Nefret ediyor ve seviyorum. Ve
sorarsan bana nasıl olduğunu,
Bilmiyorum: hissediyorum yalnızca ve
ikiye bölünüyorum.
