Istanbul ... the constant beating of the wave of the East against the rock of the West.

We only have one life to live, and must go on with it to the end, that if we feel it is meaningless, then we ourselves must give it meaning.

... danger was always at its most lethal when disguised as respectability.

Time does not act on memory to soften the edges, blur the details; if anything, it sharpens them. Emotions may lose their acid outlines, but not places and people, not if you wish to retain them.

You don't have to be sincere yourself to recognize sincerity when you see it. Any more than you have to be insane to recognize insanity.

Istanbul ... the constant beating of the wave of the East against the rock of the West.

Possibilities swung from the ropes of his life like charms on a watch chain, golden.