Quotes from The Summer of Katya

“We all desire to be understood, but no one enjoys being obvious.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“İtiraf ruha iyi gelir, Montjean. Ruhu boşaltır, yeni günahlar için yer hazırlar.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Ripe for romance? Is that not only the self-conscious and sensitive young man's way of saying he was heavy with passion? Is not, perhaps, romance only the fiction by means of which the tender-minded negotiate their lust?”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Dedikodu bizim kadınlarımıza günahın tadını çıkarma olanağı verir. Kendi işlemeyecekleri, işleyemeyecekleri günahlar. Çünkü onları cesaretsizlikleri, hayal güçlerinin eksikliği ve fırsatsızlık engelliyor. Biz de bu eksikliklere namus diyoruz.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Ben geleceği hep yığınlar halinde 'bugün' olmayı bekleyen yarınlardan oluşmuş diye görürüm.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“However, little by little, I am coming to the view that what I mistook for humility was, in fact, an accurate evaluation of your worth.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Indeed, my first interest in the pioneer work of Doctor Freud sprang, not from a concern for persons wounded in their collisions with reality, but from my personal curiosity about the nature of creativity and the springs of motivation. So”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Why did I submit myself to the butchery of the trenches when I might have served in the echelons as a medical officer? Even the most rudimentary knowledge of Doctor Freud would suggest that I was pursuing a death wish”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“The years passed unnoticed and unremembered, and one autumn morning I found myself suddenly forty-five years old. It was a time for weighing youthful hopes against mature accomplishment, for it was quite certain that I had by then done all I was ever going to do. Sitting alone at my desk that evening of my forty-fifth birthday I asked that least original of introspective questions: Where had it all gone? And the somewhat less banal question: What, after all, had it been? My”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“gün olup beni seveceği düşüncesiyle avunamazdım. gençtim, romantiktim ama,aşkı zamanla büyüyüp gelişen bir şey olarak göremiyordum. maddelerine uyulacak bir anlaşma değildi aşk.ya bir bütündü, sizi tümüyle içine alırdı ya da aşk değildi. başka bir şeydi belki.daha mantıklı,daha sakin bir şey. kendine göre yine güzel bir şey... ama o şeyi istemiyordum ben."

"bana da acımakla vakit kaybetme montjean. ben hayatta kendi durumumu dikkatle saptadım. ne fazla mutluluğa, ne de fazla acıya yer bırakıyorum. kendime güvenli ve kararlı bir yüzeysellik edindim. zevklerim var ama iştahlarım yok. gülüyorum, ama pek seyrek gülümsüyorum. beklentilerim var, ama umutlarım yok. esprilerim var, ama mizahım yok. çok atağım ama hiç cesaretim yok. açık sözlüyüm ama içtenliğim yok. çekiciliği güzelliğe tercih ederim. rahatlığı da yararlılığa tercih ederim. güzel kurulmuş bir cümle bence anlamlı bir cümleden iyidir. her şeyde yapaylığı seçerim!"

"henüz hiçbir şeye teşebbüs etmediğim için, kendi yetersizliklerimden haberim yoktu. bir şeye cesaret etmemiş olduğum için de, cesaretimin sınırlarını bilmiyordum.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

“Hepimiz karşımızdakinin bizi anlamasını isteriz ama, ayna gibi içimiz dışımız görünsün istemeyiz.”
― Trevanian, quote from The Summer of Katya

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“Tam między gałązkami coś tkwiło — coś sterczało odrębnego i obcego, choć niewyraźnego… i temu przyglądał się też mój kompan.
— Wróbel.
— Acha.
Był to wróbel. Wróbel wisiał na drucie. Powieszony. Z przechylonym łebkiem i rozwartym dzióbkiem. Wisiał na kawałku cienkiego drutu, zahaczonego o gałąź.
Szczególne. Powieszony ptak. Powieszony wróbel. Ta ekscentryczność krzyczała tutaj wielkim głosem i wskazywała na rękę ludzką, która wdarła się w gąszcz — ale kto? Kto powiesił, po co, jaki mógł być powód?… myślałem w gmatwaninie, w tym rozrośnięciu obfitującym w milion kombinacji, a trzęsąca jazda koleją, noc hucząca pociągiem, niewyspanie, powietrze, słońce, marsz tutaj z tym Fuksem i Jasia, matka, chryja z listem, moje „zamrażanie” starego, Roman, zresztą i kłopoty Fuksa z szefem w biurze (o których opowiadał), koleiny, grudy, obcasy, nogawki, kamyczki, liście, wszystko w ogóle przypadło naraz do tego wróbla, jak tłum na kolanach, a on zakrólował, ekscentryk… i królował w
tym zakątku.
— Kto by go mógł powiesić?
— Jakiś dzieciak.
— Nie. Za wysoko.
— Chodźmy.
Ale nie ruszał się. Wróbel wisiał. Ziemia była goła, ale miejscami nachodziła ją trawa krótka, rzadka, walało się tu sporo rzeczy, kawałek zgiętej blachy, patyk, drugi patyk,
tektura podarta, patyczek, był też żuk, mrówka, druga mrówka, robak nieznany, szczapa i tak dalej i dalej, aż ku zaroślom u korzeni krzaków — on przyglądał się temu, podobnie jak ja.
— Chodźmy. Ale jeszcze stał, patrzył, wróbel wisiał, ja stałem, patrzyłem. —
Chodźmy. — Chodźmy. Nie ruszaliśmy się jednak, może dlatego, że już za długo tu
staliśmy i upłynął moment stosowny do odejścia… a teraz to stawało się już cięższe, bardziej nieporęczne… my z tym wróblem, powieszonym w krzakach… i zamajaczyło mi się coś w rodzaju naruszenia proporcji, czy nietaktu, niestosowności z naszej strony…
byłem śpiący.
— No, w drogę! — powiedziałem i odeszliśmy… pozostawiając w krzakach wróbla, samego.”
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“You have to teach your heart and mind how to sing together... then you'll hear the sound of your soul”
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