When I see the hero walking along the cobblestones of a poor neighborhood, gazing up at the lights in the windows of a wooden house, it seems to me that hüzün does not come from the hero’s broken, painful story or from his failure to win the hand of the woman he loves; rather, it is almost as if the hüzün that infuses the city’s sights and streets and famous views has seeped into the hero’s heart to break his will.