HZ. MEVLANA
"Yaşam seni dizlerinin üzerine düşürüyorsa, dua etmek için mükemmel bir pozisyondasın"
"When the world pushes you to your kness, you're in the perfect pacition to pray. "

Necip Fazıl Kısakürek
Minarede “ölü var!” diye bir acı salâ… Er kişi niyetine saf saf namaz… Ne âlâ! Böyledir de ölüme kimse inanmaz hâlâ! Ne tabutu taşıyan, ne de toprağı kazan…*** A sorrowful call from the minaret announces a death. People line up to pray at the funeral... How admirable! But still no one believes in death! Neither those carrying the coffin, nor those digging the earth...

Sinem Sönmez, bir alıntı ekledi.
31 Oca 20:30 · Kitabı okudu · İnceledi · Beğendi · 9/10 puan

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I-tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave-
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! Lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

Seçme Şiirler, Emily DickinsonSeçme Şiirler, Emily Dickinson

Pontifex Maximus Telesinus filozofumuza tapınaklara girdiğinde ne için dua edersin diye sordu. Apollonius şöyle cevap verdi: "Ben her zaman doğruluğun hüküm sürmesi, yasaların bozulmadan kalması, bilgilinin fakir ve diğerlerinin ise hakkıyla zengin olması için dua ederim." Apollonius of Tyana - C.R.S. Mead

When you enter the temples, for what do you pray?” asked the Pontifex Maximus Telesinus of our philosopher. “I pray,” said Apollonius, “that righteousness may rule, the laws remain unbroken, the wise be poor and others rich, but honestly”

Ophelia, bir alıntı ekledi.
06 Nis 2017 · Kitabı okudu · 10/10 puan

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love-Ophelia ölümünden önce çiçeklerini simgeleştiriyor

Hamlet, William ShakespeareHamlet, William Shakespeare

Leonard Cohen
Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began
To laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again

Well you know that I love to live with you
But you make me forget so very much
I forget to pray for the angels
And then the angels forget to pray for us

E.Bilge Bayraktar, Kırık Bebekler'i inceledi.
02 Şub 2017 · Kitabı okudu · 1 günde · Beğendi · 7/10 puan

Su gibi akıp giden bir polisiye-gerilim romanı olan Kırık Bebekler beni benden aldı diyebilirim. Gerek karakterler olsun, gerek olay örgüsü; tam şu olay kesinlikle böyle oldu dediğiniz anda açığa çıkan minik bir ip ucu olayları tam zıt yöne çevirebiliyor. Dediğim gibi fazlasıyla akıcı birkaç saatte bitirdim.
Serinin devam kitapları olan Watch Me ve Pray'i ne zaman türkçeye çevrilir veya çevrilir mi bilemiyorum ama çevrildiği an edineceğim kitaplar olacaklar kendileri. Çevrilmezseler de alıp orjinal dillerinde okumaya çalışacağım artık.

Süheyl Karakaya, bir alıntı ekledi.
28 Oca 2017

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place


He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.

He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
Fingering a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs, That the throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
Into the hideous shed.

He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.

Reading Hapishanesi Baladı, Oscar WildeReading Hapishanesi Baladı, Oscar Wilde