Colour Is The Touch Of The Eye,

I Think A Lot About The Poems I Wasn't Able To Write...i Masturbrated...solitude Is Essentially A Matter Of Pride; You Bury Yourself In Your Own Scent. The Issue Is The Same For All Real Poets. If You've Been Happy For Too Long, You Become Banal. By The Same Token, If You've Been Unhappy For A Long Time, You Lose Your Poetic Power...happiness And Poverty Can Only Coexist For The Briefest Time. Afterword Either Happiness Coarsens The Poet Or The Poem Is So True It Destroys His Happiness.

No One Drives Me Into Exile, Not Even The Nationalists.

Painting Taught Literature To Describe.

Istanbul Is Certainly In The Process Of Transforming Itself Into An Attractive Cultural, Tourist And Financial Center. But There Are Also Millions Of Sad Stories In This Giant Sea Of Immigration, Poverty, Misery And Contradictions. So Much Anger, Frustration And Fury.

Most Of The Time It's Not The Europeans Who Belittle Us. What Happens When We Look At Them Is That We Belittle Ourselves. When We Undertake The Pilgrimage, It's Not Just To Escape The Tyranny At Home But Also To Reach To The Depths Of Our Souls. The Day Arrives When The Guilty Must Return To Save Those Who Could Not Find The Courage To Leave.