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Nazim Hikmet 1902-1963 “I mean, you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you’ll plant olive trees― and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don’t believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier.”

“It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe. To feel it so like myself, indeed, […]

Where damped washing are hung often upside down, where strayed dogs play cheerfully at noon and howl savagely by the night where streets are narrowed and nights, stretched out. Amidst of quietened alleys, and lamented walls, where people sleep on pavements and rejoice the filth. The town weeps I’ve been told. I hear it’s calling. […]

In the slums of my native town, I found a human as soft as light. Despite his crooked tooth, he smiled; 
and I wonder if life was kinder to him. In all his misery, he was the epitome of gratitude, that put my essence to shame.

At eighteen

At eighteen I was ready to give up my life, for whatever I wanted. At eighteen life is least of your concern. At eighteen there is a lot of madness and no patience. The hunger of flight gnaws at you, demanding you to jump; to fall and grow wings on the way. At eighteen you’re […]