“I am a book.Sheaves pressed from the pulp of oaks and pinesa natural sawdust made dingy from purses, dustyfrom shelves.Steamy and anxious, abused and misused,kissed and cried over, smeared, yellowed, and torn,loved, hated, scorned. I am a book. I am a book that remembers,days when I stood proud in good companyWhen the children came, I leapt into their arms,when the women came, they cradled me against their soft breasts,when the men came, they held me like a lover,and I smelled the sweet smell of cigars and brandy as we sat together in leather chairs,next to pool tables, on porch swings, in rocking chairs,my words hanging in the air like bright gems, dangling,then forgotten, I crumbled,dust to dust. I am a tale of woe and secrets,a book brand-new, sprung from the loins of ancient fathers clothed in tweed,born of mothers in lands of heather and coal soot.A family too close to see the blood on its hands,too dear to suffering, to poison, to cold steel and revenge,deaf to the screams of mortal wounding,amused at decay and torment,a family bred in the dankest swamp of human desires. I am a tale of woe and secrets,I am a mystery. I am intrigue, anxiety, fear,I tangle in the night with madmen, spend my days cloaked in black,hiding from myself, from dark angels,from the evil that lurks withinand the evil we cannot lurk without. I am words of adventure,of faraway places where no one knows my tongue,of curious cultures in small, back alleys, mean streets,the crumbling house in each of us. I am primordial fear, the great unknown,I am life everlasting.I touch you and you shiver, I blow in your ear and you follow me,down foggy lanes, into places you've never seen,to see things no one should see,to be someone you could only hope to be.I ride the winds of imagination on a black-and-white horse,to find the truth inside of me, to cure the ills inside of you,to take one passenger at a time over that tall mountain,across that lonely plain to a place you've never beenwhere the world stops for just one minuteand everything is right.I am a mystery. -Rides a Black and White Horse”

“Who Am I? I am not a disease, nor my weight, nor even my family. I am not my job, or my things, or the house I live in. I am not the words used to describe me (quiet or boring or something else I haven't thought of), the books I read, or the clothes I wear. I am not what you see, on the outside or what I say or even the things I do. It's all illusory. I am, instead, this essence inside. I am the strength that gives me breath each day. I am the love I feel within. I am a light in the dark. I am a little piece of this universe. I am human. I am silence. I am hope burning. I am kindness. I am laughter. I am all of these things. I am.”

“I am not a machine. For what can a machine know of the smell of wet grass in the morning, or the sound of a crying baby? I am the feeling of the warm sun against my skin; I am the sensation of a cool wave breaking over me. I am the places I have never seen, yet imagine when my eyes are closed. I am the taste of another's breath, the color of her hair.You mock me for the shortness of my life span, but it is this very fear of dying which breathes life into me. I am the thinker who thinks of thought. I am curiosity, I am reason, I am love, and I am hatred. I am indifference. I am the son of a father, who in turn was a father’s son. I am the reason my mother laughed and the reason my mother cried. I am wonder and I am wondrous. Yes, the world may push your buttons as it passes through your circuitry. But the world does not pass through me. It lingers. I am in it and it is in me. I am the means by which the universe has come to know itself. I am the thing no machine can ever make. I am meaning.”

“I Want to ShoutLeave me alone!What's wrong with you?Don't you remember who I am? Who you are?This is not a father's love! I want to scream, Can't you see what you are doing to me? What you've done to me? What you've made of me? I want to cry out, I am your little girl. I am not your girlfriend. I am not your whore. I am not my fucking mother! But he is on top of me and my shout is silenced. He is inside of me and my scream stays there too. He is finished. And I don't cry out, but I do cry a bucket of silent tears. He slithers away and at last, I quietly sob”

“What can I do, Muslims? I do not know myself.I am neither Christian nor Jew, neither Magian nor Muslim,I am not from east or west, not from land or sea,not from the shafts of nature nor from the spheres of the firmament,not of the earth, not of water, not of air, not of fire.I am not from the highest heaven, not from this world,not from existence, not from being.I am not from India, not from China, not from Bulgar, not from Saqsin,not from the realm of the two Iraqs, not from the land of Khurasan.I am not from the world, not from beyond,not from heaven and not from hell.I am not from Adam, not from Eve, not from paradise and not from Ridwan.My place is placeless, my trace is traceless,no body, no soul, I am from the soul of souls.I have chased out duality, lived the two worlds as one.One I seek, one I know, one I see, one I call.He is the first, he is the last, he is the outer, he is the inner.Beyond He and He is I know no other.I am drunk from the cup of love, the two worlds have escaped me.I have no concern but carouse and rapture.If one day in my life I spend a moment without youfrom that hour and that time I would repent my life.If one day I am given a moment in solitude with youI will trample the two worlds underfoot and dance forever.O Sun of Tabriz, I am so tipsy here in this world,I have no tale to tell but tipsiness and rapture.”

“I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort I cannot make. Please give me that heavy book. I need to put something heavy like that on top of my head. I have to place my feet under the pillows always, so as to be able to stay on earth. Otherwise I feel myself going away, going away at a tremendous speed, on account of my lightness. I know that I am dead. As soon as I utter a phrase my sincerity dies, becomes a lie whose coldness chills me. Don't say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you.”

“There before me, staring back from bottomless blackness, was I without my self. On all fours, I stared into my eyes. I came closer, and we kissed. Who knows me best? I am only water.”