Beauty is an enormous, unmerited gift given randomly, stupidly.
Cruelty and benevolence are but shades of the same colour.
They tell me I must wade into waters, where I will soon drown. Before I march in, I leave this on the shore for you. I pray you find it, sister, so you will know what was in my heart as I went under.
There is a way to be good again...
So, then. You want a story and I will tell you one.
It was like waking up one morning and finding that a wild animal has wandered into your house. No place felt safe to me.
I remember how I would eye with envy all the kids in our neighborhood, in my school, who had a little brother or sister. How bewildered I was by the way some of them treated each other, oblivious to t...
I always thought clichés got a bum rap. Because, often, they’re dead-on. But the aptness of the clichéd saying is overshadowed by the nature of the saying as a cliché.
I always thought clichés got a bum rap. Because, often, they're dead-on.
As far as I know, he never asked where she had been or why she had left and she never told. I guess some stories do not need telling.
My books are love stories at core, really. But I am interested in manifestations of love beyond the traditional romantic notion. In fact, I seem not particularly inclined to write romantic love as a n...
It's basically an act of faith, hoping that a small idea will unspool into a bigger whole. Sometimes, in fact often, it doesn't and it just runs out of steam. The hope for me is that it will snowball....
Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.
Who was looked at, not seen, listened to, not heard.
War. Or, rather, wars. Not one, not two, but many wars, both big and small, just and unjust, wars with shifting casts of supposed heroes and villains, each new hero making one increasingly nostalgic f...
She was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back.She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother.
Lili lili birdbathsitting on a dirtpath
She wondered what it would be like to live with him, to see him every day. She pictured herself handing him a towel as he shaved, telling him when he nicked himself.
She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager, an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed. And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had love...
Rahim, a boy who won’t stand up for himself becomes a man who can’t stand up to anything.