"En kotu yazgi unutulmak degil, tam olarak ifade etmek gerekirse, en kotusu solup gitmek. Istek, ozlemler, anilar, bedensel arzular, bilme ve ogrenme istegi, tutku, hosnutluk, comertlik -her sey zamanla soluyor. Daglarda ruzgar nasil diniyorsa, ruh da oyle yok oluyor. Dogrusu, yillar gectikce aci bile azaliyor sanki, ancak su var ki, aciyla birlikte, diger yasam belirtileri de gucunu yitiriyor. Basit, sessiz, asal seyler, her cocugun heyecan ve merakla karsi karsiya geldigi seyler; mevsimlerin birbirini izlemesi, bir kedi yavrusunun bahcede kosup ziplamasi, bir kapinin menteseleri uzerinde ileri geri sallanmasi, bitkilerin dongusel yasami, buyuyen meyveler, fidildayan camlar, terastaki bir karinca dizisi, vadilerdeki ve yamaclardaki isik oyunlari, ayin solgunlugu ve halesi, sabahin erken saatlerinde ciy damlaciklariyla yuklu orumcek aglari, soluk alip verme, konusma mucizesi, gunbatimindaki alacakaranlik, suyun kaynamasi ve donmasi, oglen gunesinin ufacik bir cam parcasindan piril piril yansimasi, bir zamanlar bizim olup da sonra yitirdigimiz buna benzer bircok asal sey. Hicbir zaman tekrar kavusamamak uzere yitirdigim seyler. Veya daha da kotusu, seyrek olarak geri donup uzaktan hafifce isildayacaklar, ama o ilk heyecan sonsuza dek kaybolmus olacak. Her sey donuklasti ve eridi gitti. Yasamin kendisi giderek tozlu ve kirli olmaya basladi."
“The most wretched fate was not to be forgotten but, precisely, to fade away. Will, longings, memories, carnal desires, curiosity, passion, gladness, generosity — everything gradually faded. As the wind died in the mountains, so the spirit too expired. Indeed, even pain decreased somewhat with the passage of the years, but then, together with pain, other signs of life also declined. The simple, silent, primal things, those things that every child greeted with excitement and wonderment, such as die succession of the seasons, a kitten scampering in the yard, a door swiveling on its hinges, the life cycle of plants, swelling fruit, whispering pines, a column of ants on the veranda, the play of light on the valleys and the hillsides, the pallor of the moon and its halo, spiders' webs laden with dewdrops in the early morning, the miracles of breathing, speech, twilight, water boiling and water freezing, the glitter of the midday sun on a any sliver of glass, so many primal things that we once had but have lost. Things never to return. Or, worse, they will return rarely, glimmering in the distance, while the original excitement will have vanished forever. And everything is dimmed and dissolved. Life itself is gradually growing dusty and grubby.”
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