Safaa Sabeur

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I read the opening lines of the book, and it’s like my own pages are coming unstuck. For so long, all I’ve felt is fear, and all this time, it was grief. I continue reading, remembering why I used to love books. Because they show us, in so many words, and so many worlds, that we are not alone. A miracle, in twenty-six letters.”
― Gayle Forman, We Are Inevitable

“There really were rabbits everywhere. They’d whoosh and bound past you in the blink of an eye, sometimes so fast that all you’d hear was the rapid thump thump on the ground before they were gone. They were as quick as the wind, and the only thing you really ever saw was their shadows as they skittered by.
What impression did this give to us? Did it suggest the land was alive, vital and strong? Did it convey a sense of chaos, confusion and clamour? No, quite the opposite in fact, for the land seemed ever so silent. Indeed, I don’t know what other animal could’ve been as quiet as those wild rabbits.
Although the wilderness was generally quiet, it took the appearance of the rabbits before you would become acutely aware of how quiet it really was. It was a sereneness that seemed more illusory than anything else - a type of nothingness, nothing but the wind and the grass, a rippling expanse that gifted a sense of kindness, the drifting clouds, thoughts dim and hazy.
The instant the rabbits appeared, all of this nature awoke, the horizon suddenly shrank, and the air grew taut, ever so slightly. My heart followed suit, and so did my ears. My throat was empty, and all I could do was utter a gentle ah.
That sound, let loose, became the most solid, most compact thing in the entire world. My body felt heavy, overwhelmingly so, and I was unable to move. But the rabbits bounded in front of me, racing back and forth, their gracefulness blending into the calmness of the land. Then another appeared, hopped up on a largish stone and stood motionless, its eyes directed towards me, peering into me. The silence of the scene increased tenfold. One more rabbit jumped into view and the quiet deepened yet again. They came, more and more, and as they did, all sound was evacuated from the world, transforming it into a clear, limpid pool of silence. I turned my head, a movement that now seemed magnified amid the stillness. My ah lingered in the air, not yet absorbed into the sweeping quiet of the landscape. It seemed to persist, perched just above the calm.
I’d been enraptured by nature countless times before, caught in its web, unable to free myself, but I’ve never been able to put this into words. Nothing but my ah…I simply stood there in the midst of all of that confusion and clamour, the chaos swirling about, avid and avaricious. The silence encircled me, stealing the words from my throat. Countless times I’d praised the earth, the wild, but still I could not put into words that there was really no connection between us.”
― Li Juan

“漫长的劳动使阿克哈拉的土地渐渐睁开了眼睛。它看到了我们，认清我们的模样，从此才真正接受了我们。”
― Li Juan, 我的阿勒泰

“I continue reading, remembering why I used to love books. Because they show us, in so many words, and so many worlds, that we are not alone.”
― Gayle Forman, We Are Inevitable