“Without stones there is no arch.”

The militant Muslim is the person who beheads the infidel, while the moderate Muslim holds the feet of the victim.

I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed

Here people was once used to be honourable: now they are all bad; they have kept one goodness: that they are greatest boozers.

The true sweetness of wine is one flavor.

I have not told the half of what I saw.

My heart beats as much as I can breathe.

You will hear it for yourself, and it will surely fill you with wonder.

I speak and speak but the listener retains only the words he is expecting. It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear.

One of these nuts is a meal for a man, both meat and drink.

You’re mine, angel,” he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as i arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. “you have me forever.

Like his master he is never showy. He does not paw and prance, and arch his neck, and bid the world admire his beauties…and when he is wanted, he can always do his work.

Outside the arch, always there seemed another arch. And beyond the remotest echo, a silence.

One cannot walk down an avenue, converse with a friend, enter a building, browse beneath the sandstone arches of an old arcade without meeting an instrument of time.

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.