Conrad,Nabokov, Naipaul - these are writers known for having managed to migrate between languages, cultures, countries, continents, even civilizations. Their imaginations were fed by exile, a nourishment drawn not through roots but through rootlessness. My imagination however, requires that I stay in the same street, in the same house, gazing at the same view. Istanbul's fate is my fate. I am attached to this city because it has made me who I am.
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The master was an old Turtle--we used to call him Tortoise--'
Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?' Alice asked.
We called him Tortoise because he taught us,' said the Mock Turtle angrily; 'really you are very dull!'
You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question,' added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth.
Lewis Carroll