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.
I realized that the longing for art, like the longing for love, is a malady that blinds us, and makes us forget the things we already know, obscuring reality.
The writer's secret is not inspiration - for it is never clear where it comes from - it is his stubbornness, his patience.
Painting is the silence of thought and the music of sight.
It seemed to me that the entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room to the next only by exercising out memories and ima...
I wanted to tell a romantic and dark side of Ottoman history that was also slightly political, saying to the previous generation of writers, 'Look, I'm interested in Ottoman things, and I'm not afraid...
I don't look at emails, Internet or newspapers before 1 P.M. I wake at 7 A.M., eat fruit, drink tea or coffee, and read what I've achieved, or not achieved, the previous day. Then I take a shower and...
I saw myself in the mirror, and from my expression I had a shocking intimation of the rift between my body and my soul. Whereas my face was drained by defeat and shock, inside my head was another univ...
When the whole world reads your books, is there any other happiness for a writer? I am happy that my books are read in 57 languages. But I am focused on Istanbul not because of Istanbul but because of...
Big proclamations about honor are really just excuses invented to let people kill each other with a clear conscience.
Time had not faded my memories (as I had prayed to God it might), nor had it healed my wounds as it is said always to do. I began each day with the hope that the next day would be better, my recollect...
In a city, you can be alone in a crowd, and in fact what makes the city a city is that it lets you hide the strangeness in your mind inside its teeming multitudes.
Herkes bilsin, çok mutlu bir hayat yaşadım.
الشعرُ شقيق الرسم ، و اللون شقيق الكلمة .
Where there’s a lot of money to be made, there’s also a lot of blood to be spilled.
The city’s more beautiful at night, you know: the people of the night always tell the truth.
Love is good for the skin.
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...
How much can we ever know about the love and pain in another heart? How much can we hope to understand those who have suffered deeper anguish, greater deprivation, and more crushing disappointments th...
Estoy sufriendo las penas del infierno sin ni siquiera haber muerto.