إسراء مقيدم

“All's well that ends well.'
'Assuming there's an end somewhere,' Aomame said.
Tamaru formed some short creases near his mouth that were faintly reminiscent of a smile. 'There has to be an end somewhere. It's just that nothing's labeled "This is the end." Is the top rung of a ladder labeled "This is the last rung. Please don't step higher than this'?"
Aomame shook her head.
'It's the same thing,' Tamaru said.
Aomame said, 'If you use common sense and keep your eyes open, it becomes clear enough where the end is.'
Tamaru nodded. 'And even if it doesn't' -- he made a falling gesture with his finger -- 'the end is right there.”
― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

“We were all trapped in stories, she said, just as he used to say, his wavy hair, his naughty smile, his beautiful mind, each of us the prisoner of our own solipsistic narrative, each family the captive of the family story, each community locked within its own tale of itself, each people the victims of their own versions of history, and there were parts of the world where the narratives collided and went to war, where there were two or more incompatible stories fighting for space on, to speak, the same page. She came from one such place, his place, from which he had been forever displaced, they exiled his body but his spirit, never. And maybe now every place was becoming that place, maybe Lebanon was everywhere and nowhere, so that we were all exiles, even if our hair wasn't so wavy, our smiles not so naughty, our minds less beautiful, even the name Lebanon wasn't necessary, the name of every place or any place would do just as well, maybe that's why she felt nameless, unnamed, unnameable, Lebanonymous.”
― Salman Rushdie, Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights

“- ليس هناك أي فرق بين غرفة المكتب الدافئة و المريحة و هذا العنبر . ان سكينة الانسان و رضاه ليست خارجه , بل في داخله .
- ماذا تقصد؟
- الانسان العادي ينتظر الامور الطيبة او السيئة من الخارج , أي من العربة و غرفة المكتب , اما الانسان المفكر فينتظرها من داخل نفسه..
-”
― أنطون تشيخوف, El pabellón

“everything is relative, one man’s absolute belief is another man’s fairy tale;”
― Salman Rushdie, Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights