I Could Write For Hours On The

If I Could Talk It Like Dahoum, You Would Never Be Tired Of Listening To Me.

A Skittish Motorbike With A Touch Of Blood In It Is Better Than All The Riding Animals On Earth, Because Of Its Logical Extension Of Our Faculties, And The Hint, The Provocation, To Excess Conferred By Its Honeyed Untiring Smoothness.

The Desert Was Held In A Crazed Communism By Which Nature And The Elements Were For The Free Use Of Every Known Friendly Person For His Own Purposes And No More.

I Had Dropped One Form And Not Taken On The Other, And Was Become Like Mohammed's Coffin In Our Legend, With A Resultant Feeling Of Intense Loneliness In Life, And A Contempt, Not For Other Men, But For All They Do.

The Beginning And Ending Of The Secret Of Handling Arabs Is Unremitting Study Of Them.