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Quote by Mustafa Dönmez

“I do not believe in luck. Luck sometimes, work always helps. -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC”

Quote by Mustafa Dönmez

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Mustafa Dönmez

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“We often think that only money, power and comfort give us gratification. But this is partial truth. We also feel happy when we play, work out, solve a complex problem or make a child smile by our love and affection. We enjoy success and hate failure, but there is hardly any success that is not preceded by failure. It is our failures that make our successes sweeter.”

“In the end, the answer is the men. They have to do the work. Why do we tie ourselves in knots to avoid saying this one simple truth? It's a daily and repetitive and eternal truth, and it's a dangerous truth, because if we press this point we can blow our households to pieces, we can take our families apart, we can spoil our great love affairs. This demand is enough to destroy almost everything we hold dear. So we shut up and do the work. No single task is ever worth the argument. Scrub a toilet, wash a few dishes, respond to the note from the teacher, talk to another mother, buy the supplies. Don't make a big deal out of everything. Don't make a big deal out of anything. Never mind that, writ large, all these minor chores are the reason we remain stuck in this depressing hole of pointless conversations and stifled accomplishment. Never mind that we are still, after all these waves of feminism and intramural arguments among the various strains of womanhood, treated like a natural resource that can be guiltlessly plundered. Never mind that the kids are watching. If you mind you might go crazy. Cooking and cleaning and childcare are everything. They are the ultimate truth. They underpin and enable everything we do. The perpetual allocation of this most crucial and inevitable work along gender lines sets women up for failure and men for success. It saps the energy and burdens the brains of half the population. And yet honest discussion of housework is still treated as taboo.”

“People said there had to be a Supreme Being because otherwise how could the universe exist, eh? And of course there clearly had to be, said Koomi, a Supreme Being. But since the universe was a bit of a mess, it was obvious that the Supreme Being hadn't in fact made it. If he had made it he would, being Supreme, have made a better job of it, with far better thought given, taking an example at random, to things like the design of the common nostril. Or, to put it another way, the existence of a badly put-together watch proved the existence of a blind watchmaker. You only had to look around to see that there was room for improvement practically everywhere. This suggested that the Universe had probably been put together in a bit of a rush by an underling while the Supreme Being wasn't looking, in the same way that Boy Scouts' Association minutes are done on office photocopiers all over the country. So, reasoned Koomi, it was not a good idea to address any prayers to a Supreme Being. It would only attract his attention and might cause trouble.”

“Made up of over 150 million individual freelancers, the human cloud represents a new breed of technology natives who are redefining century old descriptions of both task and technique”

“acknowledging the relative and emotive nature of ‘worth’, a fair wage is nothing but an economic and emotional threshold at which an individual no longer worries about immediate financial security. It is the point at which the focus shifts from the pay, to the work itself”

“It has taken management sciences an incredibly long time to wake up to the fact that for knowledge workers, cognitive engagement is vastly more important than physical presence. And this makes connecting with the ideas hidden within our talent very important, because ideas do what tedious supervision cannot—they raise initiative”

“It became a routine: after feeding the cows and hogs, he’d wrap himself up in scarped and don another sweater and then retreat upstairs with his paints and paper. On the coldest days, he’d come down every half hour or so to let his fingers thaw out. Then he’d go back upstairs to continue this work that no one had asked for, work that he did only because there was a part of him that was tuned to the frequency of beauty rather than of usefulness…”