I Read A Book One Day And

What Is The Thing You Want Most From Me? What Can I Do To Make You Love Me?' Be Yourself,' Said Ipek.

In Actuality, We Don't Look For Smiles In Pictures Of Bliss, But Rather, For The Happiness In Life Itself. Painters Know This, But This Is Preciously What They Cannot Depict. That's Why They Substitute The Joy Of Seeing For The Joy Of Life.

To Savour Istanbul's Back Streets, To Appreciate The Vines And Trees That Endow Its Ruins With Accidental Grace, You Must, First And Foremost, Be A Stranger To Them.

Tell Me Then, Does Love Make One A Fool Or Do Only Fools Fall In Love?

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.