A. > Recent Status Updates

My shoes are made of Spanish leather, My socks are made of silk; I wear a ring on every finger, I wash myself in milk.

Sleep is still most perfect, in spite o hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.

if you keep looking inside every minor character who appears on the page, you'll inevitably discover and reveal much less about your main character, meaning that your readers will be less committed to the person who is most important to your story.

Point of view refers to the way in which one of your characters, almost always the main one, provides a window into your story

The fountains mingle with the river And the river with the Ocean. The winds of Heaven mix for ever With sweet emotion. Nothing in the world is single. All things by a law divine...

Falling in love is a series of moments in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

It never occured to him that she might be more hurt at his going away than glad of his success

She saw him a man, young, full of vigour, making the world glow again for her.

the prospect of her life made her feel as if she were buried alive.

He would not leave her. All the time he stuck close to her, bristling with a small boy's pride of her. For no other woman looked such a lady as she did, in her little black bonnet and her cloak...since she had gone, he had not enjoyed his wakes.

Later she became a famous calliographer :) Done

The rational suffer misery in heaven And the ignorant take their heavenly ease in misery

He was looking for the dark hue of black velvet, and dreamed of the absolute black of the universe. Far away there, in the distance, the blackest of all shades is found. And suddenly he discovered his love for the night, and wondered why a desire for women always came over him in the darkness

My ink is black, so order no rainbows from me. Black is the strongest colour. I extinguishes all other colours and kills the light. Black is bold as reason and cold as logic.

A calligrapher who cuts badly can never write well.

This world is hell for the wise, purgatory for the semi-wise, and Paradise only for the ignorant.

Calligraphy, however, is an art of modesty. Arrogance is a sly quality; you don't notice it influence, but it will lead you into blind alleys.

Proximity sometimes magnifies incidentals and makes us overlook what is essential

The pen is the tongue of the hand

Let time make itself at home in your work

the master handed him the Quran or a collected volume of Arabic poetry and said, "Here you can discover the secrete fruits of the language."

How weak human beings were. A virus, some kind of short circuit in the brain-and a hero becomes a picture of misery.

Life is nothing but a struggle against decline and decay, and we always lose in the end.

for the heart of a lover betrayed has an invisible compass

Love is the only disease of which I do not wish to be cured

Script is in universal equilibrium between the earthly and the heavenly, horizontals and verticals, curves and straight lines, the open and the concealed, the broad and the narrow, joy and grief, the hard and the soft, the sharp and the playful, rise and fall, day and night, Being and Nothing, creator and creation.

Why not fold the letter into a paper swallow and let it fly from his attic into her room or her inner courtyard...At home with his wife Lamia, he began folding paper swallows and sailing them through the air from the first-floor balcony. His four elder daughters jumped around him excitedly..they sometimes dive-bombed down on the balcony, sometimes sailed in elegant wide arcs to get stuck somewhere among the trees

he was close to calling the mental hospital and getting his in-laws taken away...lol

Black and white make music, the eye moves between two poles. That creates a rhythm, the music of the eyes, made up of emotion and precision. Colour is fanciful, it easily tempts you to enjoy chaos.

Poetry opens the heart to the mystries of language