...the Endless Repetition Of An Ordinary Miracle.

In A Brutal Country Like Ours, Where Human Life Is 'cheap', It's Stupid To Destroy Yourself For The Sake Of Your Beliefs. Beliefs? High Ideas? Only People In Rich Countries Can Enjoy Such Luxuries.

In Europe The Rich Are Refined Enough To Act As If They're Not Wealthy. That Is How Civilized People Behave. If You Ask Me, Being Cultured And Civilized Is Not About Everyone Being Free And Equal; It's About Everyone Being Refined Enough To Act As If They Were. Then No One Has To Feel Guilty.

In The Mornings I Used To Say Goodbye To My Wife Like Someone Going To Work. I'd Leave The House, Walk Around A Few Blocks, And Come Back Like A Person Arriving At The Office.

How Much Can We Ever Know About The Love And Pain In Another's Heart? How Much Can We Hope To Understand Those Who Have Suffered Deeper Anguish, Greater Deprivation, And More Crushing Disappointments Than We Ourselves Have Known? Even If The World's Rich And Powerful Were To Put Themselves In The Shoes Of The Rest, How Much Would They Really Understand The Wretched Millions Suffering Around Them? So It Is When Orhan The Novelist Peers Into The Dark Corners Of His Poet Friend's Difficult And Painful Life: How Much Can He Really See?

The Image That I Remember Most Of All Is Of The Fenerbahçe Players Storming Into The Stadium Before Kickoff. They Were Called The Canaries Because Of Their Yellow Jerseys. It Was As If They, Like Canaries, Were Fluttering Into The Stadium Out Of A Hole. I Loved It. It Was Poetry.