Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world.
It’s not the content, but the form of thought that counts.
I need the pain of loneliness to make my imagination work.
Being a fiction writer makes you someone who works with irresponsibility.
Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?
Generally, I get bad reviews in Turkey.
After all, a woman who doesn’t love cats is never going to be make a man happy.
…the endless repetition of an ordinary miracle.
Those who can truly see, know.
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