Jack Moutaz

“For instance, I never complained that my birthday was overlooked; people were even surprised, with a touch of admiration, by my discretion on this subject. But the reason for my disinterestedness was even more discreet: I longed to be forgotten in order to be able to complain to myself... Once my solitude was thoroughly proved, I could surrender to the charms of a virile self-pity.”
― Albert Camus, The Fall

“Sonnet XL"

Green was the silence, wet was the light
the month of June trembled like a butterfly
and in the south dominion, from the sea and the stones,
Matilde, you traversed the midday.

You were loaded with ferrous flowers,
seaweeds that the south wind torments and forgets,
still white, shrivelled by the devouring salt,
your hands raised the stalks of sand.

I love your pure gifts, your skin of untouched rock,
your nails offered in the sun of your fingers,
your mouth spilt through all the joy,

but, for my house neighboring the abyss,
give me the tormented system of the silence,
the pavillion of the sea forgotten in the sand.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“إن الذي لا يفارق بيئته التي نشأ فيها ولا يقرأ غير الكتب التي تدعم معتقداته الموروثة, فلا ننتظر منه أن يكون محايداً في الحكم على الأمور.”
― علي الوردي, مهزلة العقل البشري

“One plays at being immortal and after a few weeks one doesn't even know whether or not one can hang on till the next day.”
― Albert Camus, The Fall