Heba Mustafa

“I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.”
― Amanda Mosher, Better to be able to love than to be loveable

“At that time, I well remember whatever could excite - certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were almost dreaded by me, because they woke the being I was always lulling, and stirred up a craving cry I could not satisfy. One night a thunder-storm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: the Catholics rose in panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, and creeping outside the basement close by my bed, sat on its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round the night-lamp in consternation, praying loud. I could not go in: too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out such an ode as language never delivered to man - too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white and blinding bolts.”
― Charlotte Brontë

“He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running.

He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")”
― Charles Beaumont, Shock!

“للذين لا يأخذون الكلام بشكل شخصي
للذين يعذروني حين يروني على غير ما اعتادوه مني
للذين يقرأون في العيون:"اني أريد البقاء وحدي"فيتركوني وشأني
امتناني وكل حبي”
― أطياف الماضي, رسائل المطر