Rawan

“للأبد ؟
ـ ماذا ؟
ـ ستظل تحبني للأبد ؟
ـ حتى تحترق النجوم وحتى ..
تفنى العوالم ..

حتى تتصادم الكواكب، وتذبل الشموس ..
وحتى ينطفئ القمر، وتجف البِحار والأنهار ..

حتى أشيخ فتتآكل ذكرياتي..
حتى يعجز لساني عن لفظ اسمك..
حتى ينبض قلبي للمرة الأخيرة ..

فقط عند ذلك ربما أتوقف
ربما ..”
― أحمد خالد توفيق

“I'd rather have my job than yours."
"Why?"
"Because your job deals very largely with what we call right and
wrong — and I'm not at all sure that there's any such thing.
Suppose it's all a question of glandular secretion. Too much of
one gland, too little of another — and you get your murderer,
your thief, your habitual criminal. Clement, I believe the time will
come when we'll be horrified to think of the long centuries in
which we've indulged in what you may call moral reprobation, to
think how we've punished people for disease — which they can't
help, poor devils. You don't hang a man for having tuberculosis.”
― Agatha Christie, Murder at the Vicarage

“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.

It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

“This is a quiet, frightened, insignificant old man who has been nothing all his life, who has never had recognition, his name in the newspapers. Nobody knows him, nobody quotes him, nobody seeks his advice after seventy-five years. That's a very sad thing, to be nothing. A man like this needs to be recognized, to be listened to, to be quoted just once. This is very important. It would be so hard for him to recede into the background ...”
― Reginald Rose, Twelve Angry Men