DENIZ REACHES KARA, KARA REACHES DENIZ
[Türkçe]
"The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we
live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and
become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize
who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space."
From "Invisible Cities" of Italo Calvino
Deniz (Turkish) :
Sea, ocean, large lake.
Kara (Turkish) :
Black; dark; groomy; ill-ommened; land; mainland; shore; dryland.
| Political: | |
| Ernesto Che Guevara, biography and lots of pictures | |
| Noam Chomsky Writings, articles, interviews... | |
| Karl Marks: Life and Theory of a Sick and Angry Man, by Theodore Groh New | |
| Literature: | |
| Italo Calvino, stories from Mr. Palomar and Invisible Cities | |
| Arts: | |
| Murat Erkan and his paintings | |
| Ercan Suelden and his paintings | |
| Personal: | |
| Boncuk, in memorial of a little greenfinch | |
| Gallery: | |
| Istanbul, pictures of that lovely, dirty city | |
| Artvin, a piece of excellent nature |
May I? : Yes. You can send anything you want to be published. Send a mail to start a contact.
COPYRIGHT :
From Us: You can use any documents in this site in any way you like
To Us: If you think that there are copyright infringements in this site please first tell us, we'll correct it.
SONNET 66
Tired with all these for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
William Shakespeare