“I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” — Maya Angelou
weinoderwien asked: Peki beni takip ettiğin arkadaşların arasına koyman ama bloguma yanlış link vermiş olman?
Duzettim. Ama nasi korktum sorunu gorunce biliyo musun
1anlamivar asked: Merhaba, temanızın adını öğrenebilir miyim acaba ?
İki sene once falan galeriden buldugum bir temanin sagiyla soluyla oynaya oynaya yapmistim bunu. İsterseniz yollayabilirim :)
Painters on Brooklyn Bridge
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“I felt the taste of mortality in my mouth, and at that moment I understood that I was not going to live forever. It takes a long time to learn that, but when you finally do, everything changes inside you, you can never be the same again. I was twenty five years old, and all of a sudden, without the slightest flicker of a doubt, I understood that my life was my own, that it belonged to me and no one else.
I’m talking about freedom, Fogg. A sense of despair that becomes so great, so crushing, so catastrophic, that you have no choice but to be liberated by it. That’s the only choice, or else you crawl into a corner and die.”
— Paul Auster, Moon Palace
The marathon runner who went missing for 50 years
Shizo Kanakuri disappeared while running the marathon in the 1912 Summer Olympics in Stockholm. He was listed as a missing person in Sweden for 50 years — until a journalist found him living quietly in southern Japan.
Overcome with heat during the race, he had stopped at a garden party to drink orange juice, stayed for an hour, then took a train to a hotel and sailed home the next day, too ashamed to tell anyone he was leaving.
There’s a happy ending: In 1966 Kanakuri accepted an invitation to return to Stockholm and complete his run. His final time was 54 years, 8 months, 6 days, 8 hours, 32 minutes and 20.3 seconds — surely a record that will last forever.
(via viviannesvintageradio-deactivat)
Central Park and midtown skyscrapers viewed from above. New York City.
“Ey zavallı milletim dinle! Şu anda hepimiz burada seni kurtarmak için toplanmış bulunuyoruz. Çünkü, ey milletim, senin hakkında az gelişmiştir, geri kalmıştır gibi söylentiler dolaşıyor. Ey sevgili milletim! Neden böyle yapıyorsun? Neden az gelişiyorsun? Niçin bizden geri kalıyorsun? Bizler bu kadar çok gelişirken geri kaldığın için hiç utanmıyor musun? Hiç düşünmüyor musun ki, sen neden geri kalıyorsun diye durmadan düşünmek yüzünden, biz de istediğimiz kadar ilerleyemiyoruz. Bu milletin hali ne olacak diye hayatı kendimize zehir ediyoruz. Fakir fukaranın hayatını anlatan zengin yazarlarımıza gece kulüplerinde içtikleri viskileri zehir oluyor. Zengin takımının hayatını gözlerimizin önüne sermeye çalışan meteliksiz yazarlarımız da aslında şu fakir milleti düşündükleri için, küçük meyhanelerinde ağız tadıyla içemiyorlar. Ey şu fakir milletim! Aslında seni anlatmıyoruz. Sefil ruhlarımızın korkak karanlığını anlatıyoruz. İşte onun için sana yanaşamıyoruz. Senin yanında sığıntı gibi yaşıyoruz. Hiç utanmıyor muyuz? Hiç utanmıyoruz.” — Oyunlarla Yaşayanlar, Oğuz Atay
