A mother isn’t the person who births you; it’s the person who rears you and shows you love.

Even the juncture in history and the zeitgeist we live in is something we choose, setting the scene for the spiritual fodder we need to grow and achieve deeper elevation of our souls.

Shakespeare had it right all along: Love will kill you in the end.

Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation.

The things that come to us easily, our propensities, are carried on a deep subconscious level into our next life. There are no coincidences.

The past is buried deep within the ground in Rabat, although the ancient walls in the old city are still standing, painted in electrifying variations of royal blue that make the winding roads look like streamlets or shallow ocean water

To me, travel is more valuable than any stupid piece of bling money can buy