Pakistaniauthor Quotes

“Don’t you ever cry again, Miss Zarish,” he said in a strict but mild tone. “I would rather die than see tears in your eyes.”
― Sara Naveed, Undying Affinity

“Jahan mein ehle-e-imaan soorat-e-khursheed jeetay hain,
Idhar doobey, udhar nikley; udhar doobey, idhar nikley

In this world, men of faith and self-confidence are like the sun,
They go down on one side to come up on the other.”
― Allama Iqbal

“In the nights though, I couldn't help but weave the golden cloth of my dreams. Each stitch from heart to thought, and thought to heart, was painful to bear, even if it was joyous at times. Because each thread was fraught with the fears of being broken midway, lost and never found again.
Nida”
― Faiqa Mansab, This House of Clay and Water

“Not everyone gets what they want. Sometimes some wishes are lost in the soul as a regret because that's their fate.”
― Sheza Khan, Doubt

“True patriotism is also born when you sacrifice for your country.”
― Sameer Khan Brohi, Irum Coaching Centre

“Lahore is a delicious city. A mottled mess of vanishing history and new regimes. Lahore becomes ominous when you are in Morgantown. Lahore becomes a quiet mirage, an odd spectacle hung in time that only moves how you want it to move. It only moves when you want it to move. It does not speak to you or wail for you, yet you write only about Lahore. You preserve it in your poetry. You suppress it in a verse. You capture it in the refrain of a poem: its beating heart, its howls and cries, its chuckle. Yes, Lahore chuckles. The colonial drawing room in your mother’s house. The pale light that slithered through the bedroom curtains. The moth your father captured in his palm when you were a child. And then he kissed the brown wings to show you that the moth was a friend. The goodness of the gardener who gave you jasmine flowers every evening. The ceramic bowl with painted tulips where you placed the flowers. The horrid monsoon rains that killed the houseboy. How long can a stanza sustain the scuffling of a city?”
― Kanza Javed, What Remains After a Fire: Stories