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There are fires in Hell so intense that even burning is forbidden,-perhaps the price of the savagery of possession is paid this way-Every truth bears upon it an ornament called goodness,If it is a lie, it has the taste of a crow's carrion., a wind blowing from evil.On the lute of every melancholy man,there is surely a woman seated upon the strings.Every freshness transferred to the soul eventually has its part trampled underfoot,Every killing has its own accent, distant from speech.The delicate

Books do not always tell people good things, nor should they. For the world we live in has witnessed far more evil than goodness. It would be easy to blame the world, but we ourselves—humanity—are the creators of this evil. With our endless ambitions and insatiable desires, we have polluted the earth. Yet when the world sings, our true duty is to join in its song, not to cover our ears.The following lines from Cengiz Aytmatov’s Kassandra Damgası vividly lay bare this condition of humanity:“The t