Turkish Sad Quotes

Some looks are heavier than the thickest books because they carry the saddest stories of life!

A sad soul needs an infinite horizon which can throw all his sorrow into the silence of the eternal emptiness!

What is left after war is silence: The silence of the death; the silence of the debris; the silence of the birds! After war even the screams of sadness are silent because the pain is in the very depths of the soul!

Only a happy mind will see the beauty of a beautiful view! For the sad mind everywhere looks gloomy!

The face of poverty is a mixture of sincerity and sadness!

Sadness in autumn is an autumn within autumn!

There is no need to upset about the fact that our ancestors were monkeys, because they are capable chaps! Don’t be sad about the truth, just understand the truth!

Did you have a sad day? Don’t worry, you have all the night to compensate for it! Did you have a sad night? Don’t worry, you have all the day to compensate for it!

Don’t be sad about the goodbyes! Because in many farewells, better unions are hidden!

Whenever we see a deserted rose, we immediately think about a broken relationship and we imagine the sadness they went through without thinking the poor dead rose ever!

If you are happy with your present time, you will look at your past with happy eyes even if you have had a sad past!

Photos which captures human sadness are the noblest and the most meaningful of all the photos!

For the first time in ten years, the March family gathered to perform the Twelfth Night Revels for the village of Blessingstoke, just as they had done in Master Shakespeare’s day. The dragon breathed fire while the Turkish Knight brandished his sword at St. George, and when it was finished, the resurrected saint and his sad dragon stood in tableau while the white-robed chorus, of which Portia and I made two, sang of the blood-berried holly and the sweetly clinging ivy. Rather like Brisbane and myself, I thought fancifully. Both evergreen and hardy, one sturdy, one tenacious, and forever undivided. But now there was a new little branch grafted to our union.

Leo’s shoulders were sloped but looked rigid, and his dark grey pin-striped suit hung loose on a slight frame. A wispy strand of auburn hair hovered like a last sign of autumn over a pinched face; sacs of skin puckered under dark eyes, and his thin moustache appeared permanently atremble. Not a handsome man, but his large brown eyes gave him an indefinable attractiveness that also carried an air of sadness.

I killed him because I am Turkish and he was Greek. But when I looked at his face, as he looked up at me blindly, I couldn't see what separated us.

So," said Halide, "I don't think Dot's Anglo-Catholic Mission Society is going to have much good fortune in my country, and she will be wiser not to encourage them to think so. The advancement of Turkish men and women must come from within, it must be a true patriotism, as it has been in the past, when we have progressed so much and so fast. When the masses will also start to advance, it will be as when our ancestors rolled across the Asia hills and plains, nothing could stay them. This will surely be again, when the minds of the Turkish masses roll on like an army and conquer all the realms of culture and high thinking. Then we shall see women taking their places beside men, not only as now in the universities and professions, but in the towns and villages everywhere, they will walk and talk free, spending their money and reading wise books and writing down great thoughts, and when the enemy comes, they will defend their homes like men. All this we shall see, but it must be an all Turkish movement; we shall throw over Islam, as Atatürk bade us, but I think we shall not become Christian, it is not our religion. Sometimes I feel that I should not have done so myself when in London, and that it was to betray my country. And now I love a devout Moslem man, and this makes it difficult. He too is a doctor. He wishes that I throw off the Church of England and that we marry. But I could not be a Moslem wife, and bring up children to all that." She sighed as she ate her yoghourt. I thought how sad it was, all this progress and patriotism and marching on and conquering the realms of culture, yet love rising up to spoil all and hold one back, and what was the Christian Church and what was Islam against this that submerged the human race and always had? ...it was the great force, and drove like a hurricane, shattering everything in its way, no one had a chance against it, the only thing was to go with it, because it always won.

Yes, looking through the eyes of literature we may talk about the beauty of sadness! But in the eyes of truth, sadness is just saddening; there is no beauty there, only a touching desperation!

Turgay makes another face and shakes his head. ‘You see my antenna?’ He points to a little growth of skin next to his right ear. ‘This my antenna to God. No pray, no Allah. Allah. Just this. God understands. He knows that Turgay is good man even if he drink beer. I drink because I sad inside.’ I try to figure out Turgay’s politics. ‘Is there a problem in the east of Turkey?’ I ask. ‘What east?’ ‘With the Kurdish people?’ ‘What Kurdish people? What Jewish people. What Greek, what Turkish people? What Christian, what Muslim? Everyone same. Government in Ankara must understand. Fuck. Only Allah up there for all.’ Fuck, I thought to myself: ‘In a strange way, Turgay is a Sufi.’ the

What do they know about Jelal?” Galip said. “Someone must have said, do an interview with such and such a famous columnist, he’d be super for your program on Turkey. And they would have written his name on a piece of paper. They’d probably not have asked his age or his description.” Just then, they heard laughter in the corner where the historical film was being shot. They turned around where they sat on the divan and looked. “What are they laughing at?” Galip said. “I didn’t catch it,” İskender said, but he was smiling as if he had. “None of us is himself,” said Galip, whispering as if he were imparting a secret. “None of us can be. Don’t you suspect that others might see you as someone else? Are you quite so certain that you are you? If you are, then are you certain that the person you are certain you are is you? What do these people want anyway? Isn’t the person they are looking for some foreigner whose stories will affect British viewers watching TV after supper, whose troubles will trouble them, whose sorrow will make them feel sad? I have just the story to fit the bill! No one need see my face even. They could keep my face in the dark during the shooting. A mysterious and well-known Turkish journalist—and don’t forget my being a Moslem which is most interesting—fearing the repressive government, politically motivated assassinations, and juntaists, grants the BBC an interview, provided that his identity is kept secret. Isn’t that even better?