Without Hope We Are Lost.

Nothing, Nothing Justifies Terrorism.

The Poem Is In My Hands, And Can Run Stories Through Her Hands.

If The Olive Trees Knew The Hands That Planted Them, Their Oil Would Become Tears.

A Person Can Only Be Born In One Place. However, He May Die Several Times Elsewhere: In The Exiles And Prisons, And In A Homeland Transformed By The Occupation And Oppression Into A Nightmare.

And What I Don't Understand I Grasp It Only When It's Too Late.