What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born.

The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

Among the Igbo the art of conversation is regarded very highly, and proverbs are the palm-oil with which words are eaten.

Being the Novelist-in-Residence at a riad hotel in the kasbah of an Arabic North African city is a lot like trying to write one’s memoirs on shreds of napkins in a nuthouse.

Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.

A girl without braids
is like a city without bridges.