I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings: the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.
On this day in 1982 John Cheever died at the age of seventy in Ossining, New York. In 1977, the novel Falconer was number one on the best-seller lists and Cheever was on the cover of Newsweek. A year later, Cheever won a Pulitzer for his 700-page retrospective collection, The Stories of John Cheever, a book regarded as an essential chronicle of middle America, written in a style that made its author, said critic John Leonard, “the Chekhov of the suburbs.” Source: http://ow.ly/yaEyp
Bu yaz yapılacak şeyler listesinin ilk sırasında… #asoiaf #georgerrmartin #asongoficeandfire
Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.
cairo international book fair 2014
wandering with a lens
Ustaların ustası… Bu kitap inci değerinde benim için. Orhan Pamuk’un, Elif Şafak’ın ya da herhangi bir yazarın kitabının ingilizce basılmasından binlerce kez daha kıymetli, daha anlamlı… Ve Bu biricik eserden bir alıntı: “Şu hakikati kendi hayatım bana öğretti: İnsanoğlu insanoğlunun cehennemidir.” Öyle midir? diye soracağım geliyor ama sonra içim beni durduruyor…
There’s as many atoms in a single molecule of your DNA as there are stars in the typical galaxy. We are, each of us, a little universe.
Simone de Beauvoir, After the War
Dostoyevsky Demons - process
I keep trying to convey something which cannot be conveyed, to explain something which cannot be explained, something in my bones, which can only be experienced in the same bones. In essence it might be nothing more than that fear of the greatest things as well as the smallest, fear, convulsive fear of pronouncing a single word. On the other hand, maybe this fear isn’t simply fear, but also longing for something greater than anything that can aspire fear. Only I am at fault, because there is too little truth on my part, still far too little truth, still mostly lies, lies told out of fear of myself and fear of people. This pitcher was broken long before it went to the well. And now I am keeping my mouth shut in order to stick with the truth a little. Lying is horrible, there is no worse mental agony. Therefore I beg you: let me be silent.