Ahmed

“كيف نضجر وللسماء هذه الزرقة ، وللأرض هذه الخضرة ، وللورد هذا الشذا ، وللقلب هذه القدرة العجيبة على الحب ، وللروح هذه الطاقة اللانهائية على الإيمان. كيف نضجر وفي الدنيا من نحبهم ، ومن نعجب بهم ، ومن يحبوننا ، ومن يعجبون بنا.”
― نجيب محفوظ

“عندما تتكاثر المصائب يمحو بعضها بعضاً ..
وتحل بك سعادة جنونية غريبة المذاق ..
وتستطيع أن تضحك من قلب لم يعد يعرف الخوف !”
― نجيب محفوظ

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.”
― George R.R. Martin

“You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first, we'll live.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords