“The water was not God. The water undulating slightly with the waves unformed was not spiritual. It was jagged cold water and it felt perfect when we put our hands into it, and it kissed out palms again and again, would never stop kissing our palms — and why wasn't that enough?”

“Where, then, is our orator running off to, who was going to speak about a palm, but talks of nothing but a gourd? "It started as a wine jar, why does it end as a water jug?”

“The world in which we live is no more real than a moon beam reflected in water drawn from the palm of the hand...”

“She had never imagined that the kiss would be so brief and desperate and wild. Or that it would taste of holy water. Holy water and blood.”

“This wasn't the sea of the inexorable horizon and smashing waves, not the sea of distance and violence, but the sea of the etenally leveling patience and wetness of water. Whether it comes to you in a storm or in a cup, it owns you--we are more water than dust. It is our origin and our destination.”

“The people of Abadan defended the city with empty hands, and our sons and brothers fell to the ground like flowers in the fall. My friend, believe me, today the date palms are broken. Tell me, when will our youth, our date palms, be green again?”