"She absorbed his need, let it mesh with her own until the force of it buried her in an avalanche of fire and ice, radiant pleasure, a maelstrom of mixed emotions."
Türkçe / English Review
Kitabın diğer incelemelerini incelerken çoğu okurun eserden "Çocuk kitabı" diye bahsettiğini gördüm ve 
Çizgili Pijamalı Çocuk ile benzer bir karışıklılığa girdiğini fark ettim. Maalesef günümüzde eserlerin baş kahramanları çocuk olunca hemen çocuk kitabı etiketi yapıştırılıyor içeriği göz önünde bulundurulmadan. Çizgili Pijamalı Çocuk 'da olduğu gibi travmatik
"Sometimes you can't see the scars. But there's a lot of pain, I think."
Threnody in Othello's Ruined Tower
Our life is short, our art in vain, both they
Shall be one day with Ur, and buried clay.
Othello proud, now in decay, lays bare
Man's vanity, the Earth's protecting care;
With prostrate Salamis, they witness bear
Of trials and Time's crushing force and wear,
Where mopish owls hunt with defiant air,
And spiders weave their webs, in ruins there.
Some soon, some late, regardless of emotion
Inherit thus we must Earth's fatal potion.
Events like these are specks on Time's vast course,
Still, waves will break on reefs with ceaseless force;
For buds are cut, their fragrance still unknown,
And figs are picked when ripe, and fully grown;
When sounds Fate's final clarion-note of call,
The actors cease to play their destined role;
Some cheered, some grieved, at this prepost'rous play,
The crowd deceived retire; thus ends the day.
The Rhythm of the Seasons A Booklet of Poetry by Boghos P. Jelebjian
Printed by the Guebenlian Press, Nicosia
1941
NUR RİSALELERİNDE İTİKADİ MESELELER
ÖLÜLERİN TASARRUFU
"Özellikle, Allah adamı Hz. Abdülkadir, Gavs-ı A'zam, "ol" der "olur" dairesinin kutbu..."(1)
"Hazret-i Mevlânâ (Halid-i Bağdadi) (K.S.) Hindistan'dan Tarik-ı Nakşîyi (Nakşi tarikatını) getirdiği vakit, Bağdat dairesi, Şah-ı Geylânî'nin (K.S.) ba'delmemat (ölümünden
Sayfa 477Kitabı okudu
We prefer one of Holbein's meagre, pallid virgins, which is wholly ours to an antique Venus, no matter how divinely beautiful she is, but who loves Anchises today, Paris tomorrow, Adonis the day after. And if nature triumphs in us so that we give our whole glowing, passionate devotion to such a woman, her serene joy of life appears to us as something demonic and cruel, and we read into our happiness a sin which we must expiate."
