“I see what I want of Love... I see horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place... I see what I want of people: their desire to long for anything, their lateness in getting to work and their hurry to return to their folk... and their need to say: Good Morning...”

“I love women whose hidden desires make horses put an end to their lives at the threshold”

“I love you so, you are so much yourself!He is so afraid of his soul:no "I" now but she. She is now within me.And no "she" now but only my fragile "I"At the end of this song, how much I fear that my dreammay not see its dream in her.”

“I prepare my portrait for my woman to hang on a wall when I die.she says: Is there a wall to hang it on?I say: We'll build a room for it. Where? In any house.”

“A poem exists only in the relation between poet and reader. And I'm in need of my readers, except that they never cease to write me as they would wish, turning their reading into another writing that almost rubs out my features. I don't know why my poetry has to be killed on the altar of misunderstanding or the fallacy of ready-made intent. I am not solely a citizen of Palestine, though I am proud of this affiliation and ready to sacrifice my life in defending the radiance of the Palestinian fact, but I also want to take up the history of my people and their struggle from an aesthetic angle that differs from the prevalent and repeatable meanings readily available from an unmediated political reading.”

“Please take your time. I want you to kill me slowly so I can write my lastpoem to my wife's heart. They laughed, and took from meonly the words dedicated to my wife's heart.”

“Where can I write my latest account of the body's incarnation?It's the end of what was bound to end! Where is that which ends?Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?”