They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no more.

The voice of passion is better than the voice of reason. The passionless cannot change history.

You who think of us: they lived only in delusion... Know that we the People of the Book, will never die!

You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite the same as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics. And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

I am not my own friend.Time cuts me in two.