We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope.

And what I don't understand I grasp it only when it's too late.

She does not love you. Your metaphors thrill her you are her poet. But that's all there's to it.

I never wanted children, maybe I'm afraid of responsibility.

Sometimes I feel as if I am read before I write. When I write a poem about my mother, Palestinians think my mother is a symbol for Palestine. But I write as a poet, and my mother is my mother. She's not a symbol.

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.

We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.