May poetry and God's name have mercy on us!

For the Arabs in Israel there is always a tension between nationality and identity.

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

We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope.

If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.

Have I had two roads, I would have chosen their third.

I wish I were a candle in the darkness.