Best 34 quotes in «arabic quotes» category

All the Arabic I know. Pshhhh. Besides, between the two of us combined we've got the vocabulary of at least a three-year-old', Miriam huffed. 'Between the two of us,' Lulu said, flourishing her hand, 'we are at least one whole terrorist.

At work, Sirine announces that this year will be an Arabic Thanksgiving with rice and pine nuts and ground lamb in the turkey instead of cornbread, and yogurt sauce instead of cranberries. Mireille sulks and says she doesn't like yogurt and Sirine says, annoyed, why can't we ever do things differently? And Um-Nadia says, girls, never mind already, we can have the for-crying-out-loud rice stuffing and I'll bring the can of the red berries sauce.

An Opera for Kamal Boullata If I were one of those musicians who penned grand Italian operas where the notes, like clogs strike all the chords of Mediterraneans like us I would compose one and dedicate it to you Yet sadly these shrill words are all I have for you

I Will Rise One Day I will rise one day and speak it I, the Kurd, will rise one day and speak it I, the Amazigh, your voice will rise one day I, the Arab you know will rise one day and speak it: They've gone now, Saladin

Assad whistled a few notes of one of his native country's melancholic songs. It sounded as though he was whistling backwards

Assad: 'I have written it just down here.' He Pointed to a number of Arabic symbols that could just as well have meant it was going to snow in the Lofoten Islands in the morning.

... classical Arabic, being the language of the Qur'an, has not changed at all in fourteen centuries, making the writings of the early Islamic scholars as accessible today as they were then.

"Who Remembers the Armenians?" I remember them and I ride the nightmare bus with them each night and my coffee, this morning I'm drinking it with them You, murderer - Who remembers you?

Eight centuries have passed like a nap in the late afternoon my throat is choked with words I cannot speak (from The Last Soldier's Words to Saladin)

E' impossibile tornare ai giorni passati,riflettei,quando il passato ha portato con se tanta distruzione.

Chi possiede sogni,possiede il futuro.

English, unlike Arabic, was not a poetic language. English had been cobbled together by too many unknown parents, too many unsure users. English lacked the single word that differentiated an attacking lion from one at rest. Nor did English have the capacity to relay the succinct, linguistic separation of a maternal uncle from a paternal one. English was not a thoughtful language.

Fuck the Bureau! Their entire outfit is half the size of the NYPD. I've got more officers who speak Arabic in one precinct that you guys have in the entire D.O.D.!

Humor und Geduld sind die beiden Kamele, mit denen man jede Wüste durchqueren kann. (Arabisches Sprichwort)

I believe you can only be lucky if you start out being very good

I must persevere

Mujāhada, a collateral form of jihād (the so-called "holy war"), taken [by Sufis] to mean "earnest striving after the mystical life." The term is based on the Koranic text, "And they that strive earnestly in Our cause, them We surely guide upon Our paths." A Tradition makes the Prophet rank the "greater warfare" (al jihad al-akbar) above the "lesser warfare" (al jihad al-asghar, i.e., the war against infidelity), and explain the "greater warfare" as meaning "earnest striving with the carnal soul" (mujāhadat al-nafs).

In Egyptian Arabic, the word 'insan' means 'human'. If we remove the 'n', the word becomes 'insa', which means 'to forget'. So you see, the word 'forget' is taken from the word 'human'. And since it was God who created our minds and hearts, He knew from the very beginning that we would quickly forget our history, only to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. So the ultimate test of every human is to seek wisdom. After all, wisdom is gained from having a good memory. Only after we have passed this test will we evolve to become better humans. Man is only a forgetful mortal, but God — He sees, hears and remembers everything.

-I like you. -And I like hanging out with you and everything... -but I can't let this go on any further. --Why not? -Because I don't want to hurt you. --I wouldn't mind. --It'd be a privilege to have my heart broken by you. --You're just so busy being you, you have --no idea how unique you are.

No blasphemy harms Islam and Muslims so much as the call for murdering a writer

Nous, les Arabes, ne sommes pas paresseux. Nous prenons seulement le temps de vivre. Ce qui n'est pas le cas des Occidentaux. Pour eux, le temps, c'est de l'argent. Pour nous, le temps ça n'a pas de prix. Un verre de thé suffit à notre bonheur, alors qu'aucun bonheur ne leur suffit. Toute la différence est là.

...literary translators are the interpreters of human values - and the true peacemakers.

POEM FOR SOUKAÏNA” **** To tell of my new Moroccan Love, Ô, I court her everyday. But just as a pearl in the mud is a pearl, So is my Love just an Arab girl… in that I offer her constant, loving woos, but she’ll ask me in return that I give her flooze*. That’s when I kiss her and shrug, and I say, “Someday.” And she gives me her love free anyway. * * * Ô, my Love is a child of the souks. In Casablanca born. A gypsy thief, “Soukaïna” named. We met in the souks of Marrakech, It was here my heart she tamed. Ô, she came at nineteen to Marrakech, In search of wild fun. And she lived in Marrakech seven years, Before my heart she won.

She was chased by the feelings she was not ready to let go of.

Thank you,’ I answered, unsure of the proper American response to her gracious enthusiasm. In the Arab world, gratitude is a language unto itself. “May Allah bless the hands that give me this gift”; “Beauty is in the eyes that find me pretty”; “May Allah never deny your prayer”; and so on, an infinite string of prayerful appreciation. Coming from such a culture, I have always found a mere “thank you” an insufficient expression that makes my voice sound miserly and ungrateful.” (169).

The Perea family is of Arabic origin. The surname Perea originates from the Arabic word “Bariya” and denotes a homeland now located in modern-day Jordan. This surname was phonetically changed in Spanish to “Perea,” which commonly happened with Arabic words absorbed into Spanish—including the word “Albuquerque,” the capital city of New Mexico, which derives from Arabic.

The man with laughing eyes stopped smiling to say, “Until you speak Arabic, you will not understand pain.” Something to do with the back of the head, an Arab carries sorrow in the back of the head, that only language cracks, the thrum of stones weeping, grating hinge on an old metal gate. “Once you know,” he whispered, “you can enter the room whenever you need to. Music you heard from a distance, the slapped drum of a stranger’s wedding, well up inside your skin, inside rain, a thousand pulsing tongues. You are changed.” Outside, the snow has finally stopped. In a land where snow rarely falls, we had felt our days grow white and still. I thought pain had no tongue. Or every tongue at once, supreme translator, sieve. I admit my shame. To live on the brink of Arabic, tugging its rich threads without understanding how to weave the rug…I have no gift. The sound, but not the sense. I kept looking over his shoulder for someone else to talk to, recalling my dying friend who only scrawled I can’t write. What good would any grammar have been to her then? I touched his arm, held it hard, which sometimes you don’t do in the Middle East, and said, I’ll work on it, feeling sad for his good strict heart, but later in the slick street hailed a taxi by shouting Pain! and it stopped in every language and opened its doors.

The bad angels were the jinn, and the good angels were the jinn too, and we spoke to them both in the desert. In Arabic, jinn has the same root as the word for paradise, jenna. The word for jinn and the word for paradise both have the same root as the word for madness, junun. To be close to the jinn is to be close to madness, is to be even closer to paradise.

There is an old Arabic story about a man who hears Death is coming for him, so he sneaks away to Samarra. And when he gets there, he finds Death in the market, and Death says, "You know, I just felt like going on vacation to Samarra. I was going to skip you today, but how lucky you showed up to find me!" And the man is taken after all. Arthur Less has traveled halfway around the world in a cat's cradle of junkets, changing flights and fleeing from a sandstorm into into the Atlas Mountains like someone erasing his trail or outfoxing a hunter—and yet Time has been waiting here all along. In a snowy alpine resort. With cuckoos. Of course Time would turn out to be Swiss. He tosses back the champagne. He thinks: Hard to feel bad for a middle-aged white man.

Too many times we're stuck trying to revive the dead when we can't even rouse the living." The woman added a paperboard coffee sleeve around Lexi's cup. "I think if we spent as much time worrying about the life prior to the afterlife, we would likely have no time to contemplate the latter. Heaven and Hell are right here, inside of us. We take them with us wherever we go." "That's pretty good." Lexi took a sip of the coffee, desperate for caffeine. "What are your views on relationships?" Sahar smiled. "Don't settle until you find the one who makes you want to say ya'aburnee." "What?" "It's Arabic for 'you bury me.' The hope that the person you love will outlive you so that you will be spared the pain of living without them.

Was du schaffst überdauert die Zeit.

We look up to see if it is day or night. If stars burn cool and moon does shine, We take to smoke divine and wine. If breath of sun does belch its heat, we boil coffee and prepare to eat.

Through his eyes she was made of stardust.

Who wants to get cake? - Following a pop quiz