Walaa AbdelMoaty

“Optimism is contagious, he states.
If that were the case, all your would have to do is go to the person you loved with a huge grin, full of plans and ideas, and know how to present the package. Does it work? No. What is really contagious is fear, the constant fear of never finding someone to accompany us to the end of our days. And in the name of this fear we are capable of doing anything, including accepting the wrong person and convincing ourselves that he or she's the one, the only one, who God has placed in our path. In very little time the search for security turns into a heartfelt love, and things become less bitter and difficult. Our feelings can be put in a box and pushed to the back of the closet in our head, where it will remain forever, hidden and invisible.”
― Paulo Coelho, Adultery

“بعد فترة تتعلم الفرق الواهي
بين الإمساك بيد وبين تكبيل روح،
وتتعلم أن الحب لا يعني الاتكاء
وأن الصحبة لا تعني الأمان.
وتبدأ بالتعلم أن القبل لا تعني اتفاقات مبرمة
وأن الهدايا ليست وعوداً
وتبدأ بتقبل هزائمك
مع رأسك مرفوع وعينيك مفتوحتين
بسمو إمرأة، وليس بحزن طفل،
وتتعلم بناء كل دروبك على يومك الحاضر
لأن أرض الغد غير جديرة بالثقة بالنسبة الى الخطط
بعد فترة تتعلم...
إنه حتى أشعة الشمس تحرق إذا بالغت في الاقتراب.
لذا تقوم بزرع حديقتك وتزيّن روحك
بدلاً من انتظار شخص ما ليحضر لك الزهور.
وتتعلم أنه بمقدورك حقاً الاحتمال...
انك حقاً قوي
وأنك تطوي قيمتك بداخلك...
وتتعلم وتتعلم...
مع كل وداع تتعلم.”
― خورخي لويس بورخيس

“What else do you do there except lie—lie to yourself and others, lie about everything you recognize in your heart to be true? You’re obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions you despise, condemn, and know lack all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretences of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That’s the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world.”
― Octave Mirbeau, The Torture Garden

“— Who dares, in front of Love, to mention Hell?
Curbed forever be that useless dreamer
Who first imagined, in his brutish mind,
Of sheer futility the fatuous schemer,
Honour with Love could ever be combined.
He who in mystic union would enmesh
Shadow with warmth, and daytime with the night,
Will never warm his paralytic flesh
At the red sun of amorous delight.
Go, if you wish, and seek some boorish lover:
Offer your virgin heart to his crude hold,
Full of remorse and horror you'll recover,
And bring me your scarred breast to be consoled...
Down here, a soul can only serve one master.

(Damned Women)”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal