Pepitoya

“In Jerusalem, people are very cautious in the morning, out of superstition: The first words and deeds at dawn, it's said, usually shape the rest of the day.”
― Yasmina Khadra, The Attack

“I moved from one part of the city to another as though turning from an Ashkenazi fable to a Bedouin tale, with equal delight, and I didn't need to be a conscientious objector to distrust policies requiring armed struggle and sermons based on hatred. Gazing upon Jerusalem's sacred structures was enough to persuade me to oppose everything that might injure their enduring grandeur. And still today, beneath its surface holiness, the city is like an odalisque longing for her lover, ready to burst into sensuous joy. It frowns unhappily upon the uproar of its citizens, hoping against hope that enlightenment may come and deliver their minds from their dark torment. By turns Olympus and ghetto, muse and concubine, temple and arena, Jerusalem suffers from an inability to inspire poems without inflaming passions. It's crumbing, heavyhearted, breaking up like its prayers amid the blasphemy of guns....”
― Yasmina Khadra, The Attack

“But how can I accept blindness in order to be happy? How can a man turn his back on himself without coming face-to-face with his own negation? You can't water a flower with one hand and pluck it with the other. When you put a rose in a vase, you don't restore its charm; you denature it. You think you're beautifying your room, but in fact, all you're doing is disfiguring your garden.”
― Yasmina Khadra, The Attack

“This room was our ivory tower, Sihem and mine. No one else was ever admitted here. Sometimes we'de come here to commune with our silence and reactivate our senses, dulled and blunted by the noises of every day. We'd bring a book or put on some music, and then we were off. We read Kafka as well as Khalil Gibran, and listened to Oum Kalthoum and Pavarotti with the same grattitude....”
― Yasmina Khadra, The Attack