they'll bow their heads

I was going to email to someone, but then decided to post for all of you, this fragment from Other Colors (yup, still reading it, page by page on the subway. I've read one essay four times, and several others not even once yet).

From "A Selection from Interviews on My Name Is Red":

The real hero of My Name Is Red is the storyteller: Every night he goes to a coffeehouse to stand next to a picture and tell a story. The saddest part of the book is his sorry end. I know how the storyteller feels--the constant pressure. Don't write this, don't write that; if you write that then put it this way; your mother will be angry, your father will be angry, the state will be angry, your publishers will be angry, the newspaper will be angry, everyone will be angry; they'll cluck their tongues and and wag their fingers; whatever you do, they'll interfere. You might say, 'So Help Me God', but at the same time you'll think, I am going to write this in such a way that it will make everyone angry, but it will be so beautiful they'll bow their heads.