I realized that the longing for art, like the longing for love, is a malady that blinds us, and makes us forget the things we already know, obscuring reality.

After all, a woman who doesn't love cats is never going to be make a man happy.

Real museums are places where Time is transformed into Space.

Sometimes I would see them not as mementos of the blissful hours but as the tangible precious debris of the storm raging in my soul.

The gap between compassion and surrender is love’s darkest, deepest region.

After all, isn't the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?

Clocks and calendars do not exist to remind us of the Time we've forgotten but to regulate our relations with others and indeed all of society, and this is how we use them.

The power of things inheres in the memories they gather up inside them, and also in the vicissitudes of our imagination, and our memory--of this there is no doubt.

Believing that Sibel was saying these things to me to make me angry, I got angry. But this is not to say that the fury owed nothing to my partial awareness that she was right.

These were innocent people, so innocent that they thought poverty a crime that wealth would allow them to forget. --- from the notebooks of Celal Salik

There's more women likes to be loved than there is of those that loves.

Many generations are dependent on a man's understanding of his appointed purpose in life.

Many books are longer than they seem. They have indeed no end. The boredom that they cause is truly absolute and infinite.

Your headlights don't scare me.

I'd love to develop a game and make the music for it. I'd love to do something based on Captain Lights. Who knows if that'll ever happen, but I'd love to do it.

I kind of strive for being able to go home and having a totally separate life.

Mycelium is Earth's natural Internet.

You have Jesus and Jesus has you or you are barren and wasted and lost!

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer to him until my lips touched his.

Nothing, however, can be more arrogant, though nothing is commoner than to assume that of Gods there is only one, and of religions none but the speaker’s.