Paul Bowles

When I was young_ _ __efore I was twenty, I mean, I used to think that life was a thing that kept gaining impetus, it would get richer and deeper each year. You kept learning more, getting wiser, having more insight, going further into the truth_ _ she hesitated.Port laughed abruptly. _ __nd now you know it__ not like that. Right? It__ more like smoking a cigarette. The first few puffs it tasted wonderful, and you don__ even think of its ever being used up. Then you begin taking it for granted. Suddenly you realize it__ nearly burned down to the end. And then__ when you__e conscious of the bitter taste.

May Allah bless you." Or had she said: "May Allah burn you?" He was not sure which: the two Arabic words sounded so much alike.

How fragile we are under the sheltering sky. Behind the sheltering sky is a vast dark universe, and we're just so small.

the sky here's very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what's behind . . . [from] nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.

He did not look up because he knew how senseless the landscape would appear. It takes energy to invest life with meaning, and at present this energy was lacking.

The insistent drums were an unwelcome reminder of the existence of another world, wholly autonomous, with its own necessities and patterns. The message they were beating out, over and over, was for her; it was saying, not precisely that she did not exist but rather that it did not matter whether she existed or not, that her presence was of no consequence to the rest of the cosmos. It was a sensation that suddenly paralyzed her with dread. There had never been any question of her __attering_; it went without saying that she mattered, because she was important to herself. But what was the part of her to which she mattered?

Often when he was not working he had come here and sat an entire afternoon, lulled by the din and music from the other rooms into a state of vague ecstasy, while he contemplated the small sheet of water outside the window. It was that happy frame of mind into which his people could project themselves so easily - the mere absence of immediate unpleasant preoccupation could start it off, and a landscape which included the sea, a river, a fountain, or anything that occupied the eye without engaging the mind, was of use in sustaining it. It was the world behind the world, where reflection precludes the necessity for action, and the calm which all things seek in death appears briefly in the guise of contentment, the spirit at last persuaded that the still waters of perfection are reachable.

Looking at him she felt she knew what the people of antiquity had been like. Thirty centuries or more were effaced, and there he was, the alert and predatory sub-human, further from what she believed man should be like than the naked savage, because the savage was tractable, while this creature, wearing the armor of his own rigid barbaric culture, consciously defied progress. And that was what Stenham saw, too; to him the boy was a perfect symbol of human backwardness, and excited his praise precisely because he was __ure_: there was no room in his personality for anything that mankind had not already fully developed long ago. To him he was a consolation, a living proof that today__ triumph was not yet total; he personified Stenham__ infantile hope that time might still be halted and man sent back to his origins.

Not all the ravages caused by our merciless age are tangible ones. The subtler forms of destruction, those involving only the human spirit, are the most to be dreaded.

There's a little war in progress here. There won't be anything left of the place if it goes on at this rate." (But it's hard to feign innocence if you've eaten the apple, he reflected.) "And it looks to me as if it is going to go on, because the French aren't going to give in, and certainly the Arabs aren't, because they can't. They're fighting with their backs the the wall.""I thought maybe you meant you expected a new world war," he lied."That's the least of my worries. When that comes, we've had it. You can't sit around mooning about Judgement Day. That's just silly. Everybody who ever lived has always had his own private Judgment Day to face anyway, and he still has. As far as that goes, nothing's changed at all.

He awoke, opened his eye. The room meant very little to him; he was too deeply immersed in the non-being from which he had just come. If he had not the energy to ascertain his position in time and space, he also lacked the desire. ... In utter comfort, utter relaxation he lay absolutely still for a while, and then sank back into on the the light momentary sleeps that occur after a long, profound one.

Although this was not a comforting point of view, he did not reject it, because it coincided with one of his basic beliefs: that a man must at all costs keep some part of himself outside and beyond life. If he should ever for an instant cease doubting, accept wholly the truth of what his senses conveyed to him, he would be dislodged from the solid ground to which he clung and swept along with the current, having lost all objective sense, totally involved with existence.

...Amar was made conscious in an instant of a presence in the air, something which had been there all the time, but which he had never isolated and identified. The thing was in him, he was a part of it, as was the man opposite him, and it was a part of them; it whispered to them that time was short, that the world they lived in was approaching its end, and beyond was unfathomable darkness. It was the premonition of inevitable defeat and annihilation, and it had always been there with them and in them, as intangible and as real as the night around them. Amar pulled two loose cigarettes out of his pocket and handed one to the potter. "Ah, the Moslems, the Moslems!" he sighed. "Who knows what's going to happen to them?

There could be nothing, he reflected, to equal a government which was simply the honest enforcement, by means of the sword, of the laws of Islam.

You have to hate them, you mean? You can__ decide: I will or I won__ hate them?__mar did not completely understand. __ut I hate them now,_ he explained. __he day Allah wants me to stop hating them, He__l change my heart.__he man was smiling, as if to himself. __f the world__ really like that, it__ very easy to be in it,_ he said.__t will never be easy to be in the world,_ Amar said firmly. __r tabi mabrhach. God doesn__ want it easy.

...he refused to consider the Moroccans' present culture, however decadent, an established fact, an existing thing. Instead, he seemed to believe that it was something accidentally left over from bygone centuries, now in a necessary state of transition, that the people needed temporary guidance in order to progress to some better condition.

Every little thing makes a difference, whether you decide it yourself or whether it__ pure accident. So many people have had the whole course of their lives changed by something perfectly simple like, let__ say, crossing the street at one point instead of another.___es, yes, yes, I know,_ Stenham said with exaggerated weariness. __s far as I__ concerned that__ just as boring, and a lot more false, by the way. The point I__ trying to make is that he loves his world of Koranic law because it__ his, and at the same time he hates it because his intuition tells him it__ at the end of its rope. He can__ expect anything more from it. And our world, he hates that too, just on general principles, and yet it__ his only hope, the only way out__f there is one for him personally, which I doubt.