I think perhaps it is a generational thing. I talk to younger people and they say, Where is this melancholy city you talk about My Istanbul is a sunny place.

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.

I don't want to be a tree; I want to be its meaning.

And before long , the msuic , the views rushing past the window , my fathers voice and the narrow cobblestone streets all merged into one , and it seemed to me that while we would never find answers to these fundamental questions , it was good for us to ask them anyway . pg. 284

Snow reminds Ka of God! But I’m not sure it would be accurate. What brings me close to God is the silence of snow.

Well, on the one hand the Turks have the legitimate need to defend their national dignity - and this includes being recognized as a part of the west and Europe.

Books, which we mistake for consolation, only add depth to our sorrow.