“And what am I but the smallest of footnotes in the universe’s everlasting memoir?”

I love you like I barely had a land to call my own.

I am tired of living in a world, where I belong deeply, to anyone but myself.

She has learned so much from dying only to be born again.

I remember when I was the only sin you liked to kiss.

I loved each and every one of your faces.

Tear me open and rest inside me.

Here I am, a mosaic of becomings.

I am a child of borderlines and we are two lands, carved differently.

For once I want to be something that lasts.

I’m sorry only I can both drown you and be the summer that dries it away.

This foundation can only take the beating of one heart.

When you kissed me you breathed air into my lifeless soul.

I am unbearably human.

The most beautiful parts of your body are those you had to grow again.

Somewhere in these walls we’re still dancing, feeling nostalgic and much too in my head.

Depression is the way my eyes have learnt how to close more than open.

The Prophet defeated the enemies of Islam even when he and his followers were small in number.

I began revolution with 82 men. If I had to do it again, I do it with 10 or 15 and absolute faith. It does not matter how small you are if you have faith and plan of action.

Give a small boy a hammer and he will find that everything he encounters needs pounding.

Awe enables us to see in the world intimations of the divine, to sense in small things the beginning of infinite significance

You speak of doing good to the world. Is the world such a small thing? And who are you, pray, to do good to the world?

I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture of them and the study of nature.

You have a lot of small choices. It’s like . . . I guess it’s the difference between suicide and slow capitulation . . .

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that