How different from the cosy world of Rüya's detective novels, where authors never vexed a hero with more signs than he needed.

To savour Istanbul's back streets, to appreciate the vines and trees that endow its ruins with accidental grace, you must, first and foremost, be a stranger to them.

I certainly see myself more as a craftsman than as an artist.

I very much enjoy reading other writers' diaries, mainly because it makes me ask myself: Are they like you? How do they think?

I think it's horrible that we Turks are always seen under the aspect of Islam first. I am constantly asked about religion, and almost always with a negative undercurrent that makes me furious.

As soon as I observed myself from outside myself, I recognized and understood that I had a long-standing habit of keeping an eye on myself. That's how I managed to pull myself together, over the years, checking myself from the outside.

Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?