Top 14 al-Tayyib Salih Quotes

The human world is a “boiling cauldron” that cannot be defined precisely ― it is a dynamic fluid with smooth gradation within, at the same time integral and turbulent, and both known and unknown to itself.

Where does the lamplight end? How does the darkness begin? And does it matter?

...the Imam is revered and followed by only the more traditional villagers. To most young men and the influential “gang,” the Imam is “a necessary evil"

To the people, he is not a person, but an institution

Although many people feel depressed when they see him, (because he reminds them of death, the afterlife, and prayers.

Haneen is often seen traveling around with no possessions, food, or people for he is “a pious man wholly dedicated to his religious devotions,”

I had put out the candles and locked the door of the room and that of the courtyard without doing anything. Another fire would not have done any good.

The world has turned suddenly upside down. Love? Love does not do this. This is hatred. I feel hatred and seek revenge; my adversary is within and I needs (sic) must confront him. Even so, there is still in my mind a modicum of sense that is aware of the irony of the situation. I begin from where Mustafa Sa'eed had left off. Yet he at least made a choice, while I have chosen nothing.

I had not thought of the boys during the whole of the ghastly journey. I had been thinking of her. Again I said to Mahjoub: 'What happened?'

I told him that Mustafa Sa'eed was a lie. 'Do you want to know the truth about Mustafa Sa'eed?' I said to him with another drunken laugh.

They are my responsibility, and one of the reasons that brings me here each year is to see how they are getting on.

It is a chaotic house, built without method, and has acquired its present form over many years: many differently-sized rooms, some built up against one another at different times, either because they were needed or because my grandfather found himself with some spare money for which he had no other use.

But I would hope you will not entertain the idea, dear sirs, that Mustafa Sa'eed had become an obsession that was ever with me in my comings and goings. Sometimes months would pass without his crossing my mind. In any case, he had died, by drowning or by suicide - God alone knows.

It was a steamingly hot July night, the Nile that year having experienced one of those floodings that occur once every twenty or thirty years and become legendary - something for fathers to talk to their sons about.