To Savour Istanbul's Back Streets, To Appreciate

What Is Love?” “i Don’t Know.” “love Is The Name Given To The Bond Kemal Feels With Füsun Whenever They Travel Along Highways Or Sidewalks; Visit Houses, Gardens, Or Rooms; Or Whenever He Watches Her Sitting In Tea Gardens And Restaurants, And At Dinner Tables.” “hmmm … That’s A Lovely Answer,~ But Isn’t Love What You Feel When You Can’t See Me?” “under Those Circumstances, It Becomes A Terrible Obsession, An Illness.

For The Traveler We See Leaning On His Neighbor Is An Honest And Well-meaning Man And Full Of Melancholy, Like Those Chekhov Characters So Laden With Virtues That They Never Know Success In Life.

...a Nation Could Change Its Way Of Life, Its History, Its Technology, Its Art, Literature, And Culture, But It Would Never Have A Real Chance To Change Its Gestures.

Sometimes I Would See Them Not As Mementos Of The Blissful Hours But As The Tangible Precious Debris Of The Storm Raging In My Soul.

Yet Does Illustrating In A New Way Signify A New Way Of Seeing?