Let Everyone Know, I Lived A Very

When Something Explosive Is Kept Hidden Away, A Tension Builds Within That Must Ultimately Be Released.

It's A Great Relief For Me That No One Will Ask Me Anymore: "orhan, When Will You Get The Nobel Prize?"

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.

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 Than We Ourselves Have Known?

Writing My Own Diary Is The Best Form Of Remembrance, But Only For My Own Use. I Need These Notes; It's Like An Impulse.