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.

The gap between compassion and surrender is love’s darkest, deepest region.

My unhappiness protects me from life.

Age had not made him less handsome, as is so often the case; it had simply made him less visible.

I see Turkey's future as being in Europe, as one of many prosperous, tolerant, democratic countries.

Yet does illustrating in a new way signify a new way of seeing?

We live but for a short time, we see but very little, and we know almost nothing; so, at least, let's do some dreaming. Have yourself a very good Sunday, my dear readers.