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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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“Gideon was instantly captivated. A hundred questions crowded in his mind. He wanted to know who she was, why she was there, if she liked sugar in her tea, had she climbed trees as a girl, and what her first kiss had been like... The flood of curiosity puzzled him. He usually managed to avoid caring about anyone long enough to ask questions about him. Not quite trusting himself to speak, Gideon approached her cautiously. She stiffened slightly, as if she was unused to proximity with a stranger. As he drew closer, he saw that her features were even and her nose was a little too long, and her mouth was soft and sweetly shaped. Her eyes were some light color... green, perhaps... shining eyes that contained unexpected depths.”

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“Today I saw the most beautiful girl in the world... She is the most beautiful girl in the world, Bartolomeo Scappi thought. Never have I seen a woman so perfect, so angelic, so impossible for me to attain. "Bella," he breathed when air filled his lungs once again. Even Ippolito d'Este's presence at the dining table could not mar his giddiness. The girl was so beautiful she glowed like a painting of the Madonna, making everyone around her seem colorless in comparison. She was clearly a principessa of a grand house, sitting between Ippolito's father, the Duke of Ferrara, on one side, and a woman most likely to be her mother on the right. Bartolomeo sought to memorize every feature of this goddess with golden hair that shone with glints of red in the last rays of the day's sunlight. Her eyes were dark chestnut, rich and deep, while her lips were pink, like the inside of a seashell. Her hair was braided, but much of it flowed loose over shoulders, teasing her pale skin. She wore a dress of red, with sleeves billowing white. Rubies and pearls spilled across her delicate collarbone toward her beautiful breasts. Scappi painted her picture in his mind and stored it deep within the frame of his heart. That evening, while staring at the sky, his thoughts lost in the memory of the signorina, a shooting star passed across his vision. "Stella," he said under his breath. I will call her Stella. My shining star.”

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