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Quote by Marwa Ahmed Alaa

“لا أحد سيرسل خطاباً في أيامنا هذه ليخبرك عن أسعار الخضار وصداع رأسه المستمر وامتحاناته القادمة، اعلم يا صديقي أن من يرسل خطاباً ورقياً في زمننا هذا، هو إنسان عجز عن التعبير عما في داخله بلسانه، وكرِهَ أن يرسِل بضعة كلمات خرساء منزوعة الروح، على شاشة الحاسب، فقرر أن يضع روحه ومشاعره في ورقة، ذات ملمس، ولون ورائحة .. وتلك الأشياء الأخرى التى تنسل من ذاته للورقة دون أن ينتبه إليها ..”

Quote by Marwa Ahmed Alaa

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Marwa Ahmed Alaa

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“An inspired letter can be as riveting as a stare. It can move us to tears, spur us to action, provoke us, uplift us, touch us. Transform us. When written from the heart, letters are dreams on paper, wishes fulfilled, desires satisfied. letters can be powerful.”

“Dear Beloved woman, Time… so much time has passed since my love wrote his last words for me. And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember writing back and for the first time since I had left home I told my love what kind of darkness surrounded me here. I forgot all the sweet things my father had said to my mother when he was away. I forgot how they got her through all those long and lonely nights.”

“He had never imagined so clearly the consequences of mailing a letter—the impossibility of retrieving it from the iron mouth of the box; the inevitability if its steady progress through the postal system; the passing from bag to bag and postman to postman until a lone man in a van pulls up to the door and pushes a small pile through the letterbox. It seemed suddenly horrible that one's words could not be taken back, one's thoughts allowed none of the remediation of speaking face to face.”

“Let us consider letters - how they come at breakfast, and at night, with their yellow stamps and their green stamps, immortalized by the postmark - for to see one's own envelope on another's table is to realize how soon deeds sever and become alien. Then at last the power of the mind to quit the body is manifest, and perhaps we fear or hate or wish annihilated this phantom of ourselves, lying on the table. Still, there are letters that merely say how dinner's at seven; others ordering coal; making appointments. The hand in them is scarcely perceptible, let alone the voice or the scowl. Ah, but when the post knocks and the letter comes always the miracle seems repeated - speech attempted. Venerable are letters, infinitely brave, forlorn, and lost.”