“Wasn't sunrise meant to be the hour of hope? 'The season of creation' some poet or other had once called it. Fucking poet.” — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“Wasn't sunrise meant to be the hour of hope? 'The season of creation' some poet or other had once called it. Fucking poet.” — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“How secure is a forty-year-old state? I remember the garrison towns of the Punjab plains, the fenced-off lands, the young soldiers, and I have… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“She leaves the spoon and takes my face in her hands. They're warm and smell devine. She holds me, whispering, "God help him understand… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“It was here the land spoke to him most, in a region that lay high in the north of what was now Kazakhstan, though to the nomads with whom he was to spend the next three summers, all of Central Asia was one land, divided not into states but into mountain and steppe, desert and oasis. The steppe nomads made… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share
“I feared her love for me was like a Pakistani glacier. It was difficult to say if it was growing or retreating.” — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“I'd been missing this, the ease of being with someone without speaking, without suppressing speech. I'd grown up with it in Karachi, where groups… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
