Mengapa Aku Menulis? (Orhan Pamuk, penerima Nobel bidang sastra asal Turki)
I write because I have an innate need to write.
I write because I can’t do normal work as other people do.
I write because I want to read books like the ones I write.
I write because I am angry at everyone.
I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing.
I write because I can partake of real life only by changing it.
I write because I want others, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey.
I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink.
I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else.
I write because it is a habit, a passion.
I write because I am afraid of being forgotten.
I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings.
I write to be alone.
Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at everyone.
I write because I like to be read.
I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page I want to finish it.
I write because everyone expects me to write.
I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf.
I write because it is exciting to turn all life’s beauties and riches into words.
I write not to tell a story but to compose a story.
I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but—as in a dream—can’t quite get to.
I write because I have never managed to be happy.
I write to be happy.
-Orhan Pamuk-
Ankara, 31 Maret 2012
FBQ
I write because I can’t do normal work as other people do.
I write because I want to read books like the ones I write.
I write because I am angry at everyone.
I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing.
I write because I can partake of real life only by changing it.
I write because I want others, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey.
I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink.
I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else.
I write because it is a habit, a passion.
I write because I am afraid of being forgotten.
I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings.
I write to be alone.
Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at everyone.
I write because I like to be read.
I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page I want to finish it.
I write because everyone expects me to write.
I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf.
I write because it is exciting to turn all life’s beauties and riches into words.
I write not to tell a story but to compose a story.
I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but—as in a dream—can’t quite get to.
I write because I have never managed to be happy.
I write to be happy.
-Orhan Pamuk-
Ankara, 31 Maret 2012
FBQ
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