Morality Is Probably The Last Thing One

A Writer Is Someone Who Spends Years Patiently Trying To Discover The Second Being Inside Him, And The World That Makes Him Who He Is: When I Speak Of Writing, What Comes First To My Mind Is Not A Novel, A Poem, Or Literary Tradition, It Is A Person Who Shuts Himself Up In A Room, Sits Down At A Table, And Alone, Turns Inward; Amid Its Shadows, He Builds A New World With Words.

Sometimes I Sensed That The Books I Read In Rapid Succession Had Set Up Some Sort Of Murmur Among Themselves, Transforming My Head Into An Orchestra Pit Where Different Musical Instruments Sounded Out, And I Would Realize That I Could Endure This Life Because Of These Musicales Going On In My Head.

I Need A Moment Of Time For Myself Every Day, Like A Child Playing With His Things. When I Travel, I Routinely Find A Quiet Place, Open My Diary And Write Something In It.

Turks Have A Dismissive Phrase: He Works Like A Clerk. I Have Turned This Insult Around: I Am Proud To Say That I Work Like A Clerk.

Istanbul Is Certainly In The Process Of Transforming Itself Into An Attractive Cultural, Tourist And Financial Center. But There Are Also Millions Of Sad Stories In This Giant Sea Of Immigration, Poverty, Misery And Contradictions. So Much Anger, Frustration And Fury.