The Ship Beyond Time

Love isn’t much of a legacy, Mr. Firas.” “I think there’s none better.” “It doesn’t last.” “It doesn’t have to.

She is not philosophy, I am not an ethical question. I will not risk my existence to satisfy your curiosity.

That's all we can do. Live in the moment. Love in the moment.

If wishes were fishes, aquariums would be much more terrifying.

Why? Don’t you know why you love me?” “I know that I’m happiest at your side,” I said fervently. “I know that when we’re apart, my heart is with you, when we disagree I still want you near. It’s like I was made for you, amira, but I don’t know why.” “Kashmir . . .” She laughed a little in disbelief. “That’s . . . that’s what love looks like.” “But is it only a trick of Navigation?” I asked, nearly pleading. “And if so, what is truly mine?” “I am.” Her words took me by surprise. She said it so simply—so quiet, so true. Only two words, three letters, one breath, but never had a promise held more meaning. She turned to me then, and in her eyes, I saw not oblivion, but infinity, and the stars were not as bright as her smile.

I’ve always tried to resemble a brave man. It didn’t used to be so hard—and I’ve had so much practice pretending. After all, when you’re a thief, you’re always pretending not to be. The same is true when you’re poor. And sometimes also when you’re in love.

There are some things that should not be stolen.

Nix,” I said, and her name was a poem. She tilted her face up to the dawn; my lips met hers. She pressed close to me, and then there was no past, no future—only now. No her, no me. Only us.

You might wish many things, but that doesn't mean they'll come true.

Kashmir...' She laughed a little in disbelief. That's... what love looks like. 'But is it only a trick?' I ask pleading. ' And if so, what is truly mine?' ' I am. ' Her words took me by surprise. She said it so simply- so simply - so quiet, so true. Only two words, three letters, one breath, but never had a promise held more meaning. She turned to me then, and in her eyes, I saw not oblivion, but infinity, and the stars were not as bright as her smile. 'Nix.' I said. And her name was a poem. She tilted her face up to the dawn; my lips met hers. She pressed close to me, and then there was no past, no future- only now. No her. No me. Only us.

But when I'd fallen, she'd jumped, and inshallah, I had a chance now to say the things I should have said long ago. All I had to do was be brave. Or at least pretend I was, long enough to blurt something out.

I trust men even less than I trust gods.

What is history but a fable agreed upon?

I won't let fear of tomorrow steal joy form today.

Love is a beautiful drug. Very addictive.

You're no kind of captain if you keep jumping ship.

Our lives are before us, not behind.

But is it only pleading. "And if so, what is truly mine?" "I am" Her words took me by surprise, She said it so simply . Only two words, three letters, one breath, but never had a promise held more meaning. She turned to me then, and in her eyes , I saw not oblivion, but infinity, and the stars were not as bright as her smile. "Nix,” I said, and her name was a poem. She tilted her face up to the dawn; my lips met hers. She pressed close to me, and then there was no past, no future-only now. No her, no me. Only us.

Love doesn't have to be forever to be real.

It's only once everyone agrees on one version of the past that it becomes history. (Nix, page 96)

I've always tried to resemble a brave man. It didn't used to be this hard-and I've had so much practice pretending. After all, when you're a thief, you're always pretending to not be. The same is true when you're poor. And sometimes also when you're in love. I still don't know how it happened. Usually I'm better at guarding what little I have. But one day, I went looking for my heart and found it in Nix's hands.

It is a blessing and a curse to know too much. When knowledge overflows the cup, there's no room left for faith.

When a captain goes down with his ship, it isn't because he doesn't know how to swim.

We're all my thoughts now suspect? The wounds and the wonders I'd carried from my youth-the dreams and desires I'd fostered for my future. . . the love and longing for the girl who'd stolen my heart?

His death, my pain. Sacrifice is always shared

It was dizzying—cause and effect, round and round, stretching back to the source.

Then I saw the Temptation gleaming like fool’s gold on the black water, and my anger returned. The ship was hers too; everything was hers. The room where I slept, the life she had saved . . . had she created it in the first place? And even now, my heart. All hers. I was not a jealous man—it wouldn’t bother me at all if only I had something of my own. So what was mine? The coat I wore? Bought with stolen gold. The money in my pocket? Taken from the harbormaster. I pulled out the handful of tarnished silver; it gleamed dully in the moonlight. I cast the coins into the harbor like dice, like bones. They tumbled into the water and I watched the ripples disappear as though they’d never been.

Do you regret it, amira?” “Regret . . . what?” “Meeting me. Knowing me.” He searched my face. “Loving me.” Everything seemed to stop at the word; it hung in the air between us, tangible and real. “No,” I said at last. “No.” “But you fear you will someday. That’s why you hold back. That’s why you want to know you can change things before you commit.” He let go of my hand and stood. The distance between us ached like the cold of a winter sea. “You watched your father chase your mother for years, and you wished he didn’t love her. What will you do to my memory when I’m gone? Will you chase it like a dragon? Or will you banish it like smoke?