“The fate of the country... does not depend on what kind of paper you drop into the ballot-box once a year, but on what kind of man you drop from your chamber into the street every morning.”

“What kind of Muslim are you?Are you a once-a-lifetime, once-a-year, once-a-week, once-a-day man?”

“You are the drop,and the oceanyou are kindness,you are anger,you are sweetness,you are poison.Do not make me more disheartened.you are the chamber of the sun,you are the abode of venus,you are the garden of all hope.Oh, Beloved, let me enter.”

“The prose poem for me becomes a kind of chamber with no way out… a kind of hunt, because what is hunt but a breathing thing caught inside the house or the body or the box without the possibility of an exit?”

“Just let your hand drop; and let fate decide for you.”

“I've heard people talk about the circle of life. What comes around goes around and other such contiguous descriptions. But I think life is a seesaw, the kind that used to populate every children's playground. Seesaws rarely balance. They're usually in motion, either flinging you up or dropping you down. They can be fun or they can be terrifying - a lot of it depends on the other person.”