The gun of the father is always the undoing of the son.
The city waits for thunder's echo, for a wall of heat that burns Lahore with the energy of a thousand summers, a million partitions, a billion atomic souls split in half.
Some of my relatives held on to imagined memories the way homeless people hold onto lottery tickets. Nostalgia was their crack cocaine, if you will, and my childhood was littered with the consequences...
Some men drink the blood of other men, all I drink is wine.
She sees how you diminish her solitude, and, more meaningfully, she sees you seeing, which sparks in her that oddest of desires an I can have for a you, the desire that you be less lonely.
She attracted people to her; she had presence, an uncommon . Documenting her effect on her habitat, a naturalist would likely have compared her to a lioness: strong, sleek, and invariably surrounded b...
Saeed went with his father to pray on the first Friday after the curfew's commencement, and Saeed prayed for peace and Saeed's father prayed for Saeed and the preacher in his sermon urged all the cong...
Readers don’t work for writers. They work for themselves.
No believer is a bad believer.
It is the effect of scarcity; one’s rules of propriety make one thirst for the improper.
I get in, and she turns the music down. It’s Nusrat, remixed and clubby, but damn good as always.
I did not grow up in poverty. But I did grow up with a poor boy's sense of longing, in my case not for what my family had never had, but for what we had had and lost.
And so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born.
The way of things, with cities as with life, for one moment we are pottering about our errands as usual and the next we are dying, and our eternally impending ending does not put a stop to our transie...
When the machine of a human being is turned on, it seems to produce a protagonist, just as a television produces an image. I think this protagonist, this self, often recognizes that it is a fictional...
To read a novel is to engage in probably the second-largest single act of pleasure-based data transfer that can take place between two human beings,
That is the way of things, for when we migrate, we murder from our lives those we leave behind.
Courage is demanded not to attack when afraid,
And they fished and fished for hours, taking turns, but neither of them knew how to fish, or maybe they were just unlucky, and though they felt nibbles, they caught nothing, and it was as though they...
You know you’re in trouble when you can’t meet a woman’s eye.