Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.

I wanted to wear her as you would a piece of clothing, to fold into her ribs, be a stone in her mouth.

Season of Migration to the North, by Tayeb Salih, is an eloquent and restrained portrait of one man's exile. It is a rare narrative in that it charts a life divided between England and Sudan. Without a doubt it is one of the finest Arabic novels of the 20th century, and Denys Johnson-Davies' translationdoes the original justice.

Books written out of fire give me a great deal of pleasure. You get the sense that the world for these writers could not have continued if the book hadn't been written. When you come across a book like that it is a privilege.

Nothing is more acceptable than what we are born into.

There and then, sitting beside her and within the strength of my adoration, I felt invincible.

The three things that help writing the most are living, writing, and reading. In that order.