As Always After Drinking Too Much, I

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.

When You Look Into The Faces Of These Quiet Creatures Who Don't Know How To Tell Stories--who Are Mute, Who Can't Make Themselves Heard, Who Fade Into The Woodwork, Who Only Think Of The Perfect Answer After The Fact, After They're Back At Home, Who Can Never Think Of A Story That Anyone Else Will Find Interesting--is There Not More Depth And More Meaning In Them? You Can See Every Letter Of Every Untold Story Swimming On Their Faces, And All The Signs Of Silence, Dejection, And Even Defeat. You Can Even Imagine Your Own Face In Those Faces, Can't You?

I Want To Describe The Psychological State Of The People In A Certain City.

A Writer In Someone Who Spends Years Patiently Trying To Discover The Second Being Inside Him, And The World That Makes Him Who He Is.

The Snow Reminded Me Of The Beauty And Mystery Of Creation, Of The Essential Joy That Is Life.