Aylin

“Bana çay pişir. Bırakalım her şey kendi kendine düzene girsin. Yavaş yavaş soyunalım. Bir şey kaybetmek korkusuyla yaşamayalım. Ne olacak endişesine kapılmayalım. Bırakalım zaman her şeyi halletsin. Bu söz bize korkunç gelmesin. Aynı ırmağa bir kere daha girelim. Acele etme, çay kendi kendine demlenir... Günlük yaşantıların küçük koşuşmaları içinde bunalmayalım, nefes nefese kalmayalım. İnsan kendini kaybediyor sonra.”
― Oğuz Atay, Tehlikeli Oyunlar

“İyi şeyler birdenbire olur; bu kadar bekletmez insanı. Sürüncemede kalan heyecanlardan ancak kötü şeyler çıkar. Ya da hiçbir şey çıkmaz.”
― Oğuz Atay, Korkuyu Beklerken

“When the image is new, the world is new.”
― Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

“If you can see a thing whole," he said, "it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives. . . . But close up, a world's all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life's a hard job, you get tired, you loose the pattern. You need distance, interval. The way to see how beautiful earth is, is to see it from the moon. The way to see how beautiful life is, is from the vantage point of death."
"That's all right for Urras. Let it stay off there and be the moon-I don't want it! But I am not going to stand up on a gravestone and look down on life and say, 'O lovely!' I want to see it whole right in the middle of it, here, now. I don't give a hoot for eternity."
"It's nothing to do with eternity," said Shevek, grinning, a thin shaggy man of silver and shadow. "All you have to do to see life as a whole is to see it as mortal. I'll die, you'll die; how could we love each other otherwise? The sun's going to burn out, what else keeps it shining?"
"Ah! your talk, your damned philosophy!"
"Talk? It's not talk. It's not reason. It's hand's touch. I touch the wholeness, I hold it. Which is moonlight, which is Takver? How shall I fear death? When I hold it, when I hold in my hands the light-"
"Don't be propertarian," Takver muttered.
"Dear heart, don't cry."
"I'm not crying. You are. Those are your tears."
"I'm cold. The moonlight's cold."
"Lie down."
A great shiver went through his body as she took him in her arms.
"I'm afraid, Takver," he whispered.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed: An Ambiguous Utopia