“It's sad but it^s true how society says her life is alredy over. There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say..”

“Yanılıyordu. Hep yanılmıştı. O ebedi bir yolcuydu. Onun gideceği son bir durak yoktu. İlk kimliğine ulaşmıştı, ama bu hedef de bir aşamadan başka bir şey değildi. Çok yakında yeniden hafızasını yitirecekti. Yeni kişiliğinin üstesinden gelmeye çalışacak, ama olduğunu iddia ettiği kişi olmadığını anlayacaktı. Böylece hep gerçek "ben"i bulma umuduyla araştırmaya yeniden başlayacaktı. Ama o "ben" yoktu.Onu ebediyen kaybetmişti.”

“Aşk kimyasal bir yangındır. İyi olan herşey yanar. Geriye sadece en sert, en acı, yanmayan şeyler kalır. Bunlar öfke, acı, üzüntü ve korku...”

“She understood nothing, she learned nothing, so she just stood there, lively sometimes, joyful even, a groundless joy that brought tears to their eyes, though they wished they could share these moments with her: her ecstasy over a leaf, which could last for whole minutes at a time, as though it were the most wonderful thing in the world, as though the precise bifurcations of its veins or the carefree elegance with which it swayed in the breeze was what made her clap her hands together in glee...”

“For an artist, there's nothing better than having the opportunity to create a world that doesn't- but could- exist.”

“But if neither sadness or rage could unite us, I didn't know what could - the more I wanted to identify with her, the more I identified with myself; and the more I tried to understand her, the less, necessarily, I succeeded: the failure of an intelligent mind to grasp feeblemindedness was dark and deep, no less than the failure of a feeble mind to grasp intelligence, because intelligence got its shape by not understanding the thing it could never be.”

“The blizzard seemed to be dying down, and it was now possible to enjoy the sight of the buildings and embankments and bridges smothered in the diamond-dusted whiteness. There's always something soothing in the snow, thought Gabriel, a promise of happiness and absolution, of a new start on a clean sheet. Snow redesigned the streets with hints of another architecture, even more magnificent, more fanciful than it already was, all spires and pinnacles on pale palaces of pearl and opal. All that New Venice should have been reappeared through its partial disappearance. It was as if the city were dreaming about itself and crystallizing both that dream and the ethereal unreality of it. He wallowed in the impression, badly needing it right now, knowing it would not last as he hobbled nearer to his destination.”