Ebru Erdoğu

“Ayrılık dediğin dolapta çürüyüp gitmiş bir domatesi çöpe atmak gibi bir şey mi? Boş şişeleri kapıcı Osman Bey alsın diye kapının önüne koyuvermek mi? Bir insanı geride bıraktığında, sırf onu mu bırakıyorsun geride? Onunla dahil olduğun dünyayı ‘artık miadını doldurdu’ deyip kırmızı bir tuşa basıp havaya uçurmak ve başka bir gezegene taşınmak diye bir şey var mı? Hayatlarında hiç yalnız kalmamış kadınlar beni anlar mı peki?”
― Melisa Kesmez, Atları Bağlayın Geceyi Burada Geçireceğiz

“I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy: Inferno - Purgatorio - Paradiso