Gregory David Roberts

The voice, Afghan matchmakers say, is more than half of love.

The legends say that the loved one is instantly recognised because she’s loved in every gesture, every expression of thought, every movement, every sound, and every mood that prays in her eyes. The legends say that we know her by her wings—the wings that only we can see—and because wanting her kills every other desire of love.

The past reflects eternally between two mirrors—the bright mirror of words and deeds, and the dark one, full of things we didn’t do or say.

Being listened to—really listened to—is the second-best thing in the world.

Lovers, too happy loving, don’t need to believe. Lives unloved that never stop believing are saints of affection, keeping love itself alive in gardens of faith

Please, tell us,’ Karla urged, always drawn to the sun inside

India. Time measured in coincidence, and the logic of contradiction.

eyes lit with India

In its essence, the longing for family, and the ravenousness that the loss of family creates in us, isn’t just for belonging: it’s for the grace that abides in serving those we love.