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Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

“At some point in your life you will need to escape from something, so think about your escape routes and make sure they are always open!”

Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

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Mehmet Murat Ildan
Mehmet Murat Ildan

Mehmet Murat Ildan is a renowned Turkish writer born on May 16, 1965. His works span various literary forms including novels, essays, and poetry, and have gained widespread popularity among readers. more

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“The next Thursday she and Mike went to therapy even though there was nothing left to therapize. They went so they could talk calmly, so they could get through a conversation without anyone calling anyone else a Bunny fucker, so that Rhonda could help them work out logistics. Rhonda tried to appear neutral, but it was clear she was on Jane's side. Jane had won therapy. It was a consolation prize. Rhonda helped them figure out what the terms of their separation would be and asked if they wanted to file for legal separation. "Yes," Jane said. "I think we should talk about that," Mike said. "Yeah?" Jane said. "I think the ship has sailed on talking. Or the penis has sailed if you know what I mean.”

FidelitySeparatingTherapy SessionPenis Jokes
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“Travis," I whisper, like I'm trying to get his attention in a movie theater. He glances up at me, shifts his eyes to the side to check for supervillains or anyone else I might be wary of hearing me. "What?" he whispers back. Then he hands me the syrup. "What happened last night ..." I start to say, but I can't continue because I am choking on the awkward. "Was really awesome?" He finishes the sentence for me with a crooked smile and I die. Then he lowers his voice to a whisper again. "I thought so, too." "That's not what I was going to say." "Really?" he asks in mock surprise. "Because last night you seemed to think it was pretty awesome. That is, if all the orgasms were any indicator." Now I'm choking on my coffee and ready to hide my own face in my napkin. He's got a verifiable point, though. "Wait, you weren't faking it, were you? For my ego's sake?" I shake my head no. No, I wasn't faking it, and no, you are not teasing me about this. No, you are not. "Travis, I'm serious." "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm serious, too. Last night really was awesome.”

Last NightAwesomeThe Morning After
Book:Loud is How I Love You
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“Roadkill Rocker by Stewart Stafford I ordered madness on toast. My reflection pooled on the floor, splashed around in it for ages, until room service imploded the door. “Time to pay the piper, son,” it growled — “It’s my record label’s tab, you’ll find out!” They clay-pigeoned my sandwich at me, my last morsel before getting kicked out. Housekeeping surveyed the wreckage, this one-man party animal slunk to his feet: “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Yeah — I’m roadkill from down the street!” © 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

SatireExcessRock And RollSelf DestructionHangoverSurreal PoetryParty AnimalThe Morning AfterGrit LitUrban Gothic
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“So, who won the fight?' Cassian asked the next morning as she sat on her rock and watched him go through his exercises. He hadn't asked at breakfast about the black eye and cut chin or how stiffly she'd moved. Neither had Mor upon her arrival. That the bruising and cuts remained at all told Nesta how bad the fall had been, but as High Fae, with her improved healing, they were already on the mend. ... 'What fight?' She examined her mangled nails. Even with the... whatever it was she'd flung out to catch herself, her nails had cracked. She didn't let herself name what had come from within her, didn't let herself acknowledge it. By dawn, it had been strangled into submission. 'The one between you and the stairs.' Nesta cut him a glare. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Cassian began moving once more, drawing his sword and running through a series of movements that all seemed designed to hack a person in two. 'You know: three in the morning, you leave your room to get shit-faced drunk in town, and you're in such a rush to conquer the steps that you fall down a good thirty of them before you can stop yourself.' Had he seen the step? The handprint? She demanded. 'How do you know that?' He shrugged. 'Are you watching me?' Before he could answer, she spat. 'You were watching and didn't come to help?' Cassian shrugged again. 'You stopped falling. If you'd kept at it, someone would have eventually come to catch you before you hit the bottom.' She hissed at him. He only grinned and beckoned with a hand. 'Want to join me?' 'I should push you down those stairs.' ... 'Well?' he demanded, an edge creeping into his voice. 'If you've got those glorious bruises, you might as well claim it came from training and not a pathetic tumble.”

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“Moony and the jitterbugs swayed and staggered, trying to keep their balance while ducking to avoid an incoming snowman figure. "This ain't what we signed up for, Cuz," said the bug playing the upright bass. "That's right. Keep y'all's money. We quit." This bug threw down his pipe and jumped into the water. The rest of his band abandoned their instruments and made a break for it too. They swam for the nearest gravey boat.”

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Book:Spelled
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