Quotes from Leila Aboulela

He disliked English, not because they had invaded his country, but because of the effort required to understand their different languages and customs. At the same time, he was in no hurry for them to leave, for he admired them, most of the time, not for the modernity they were establishing but for the business opportunities they brought with them.

When it's fair trade, it's blessed, and when it's unfair it's an injustice. That is the way of the world. Everyone wants something and they barter to get it.

It took him years to learn the value of silence, the power of carefully chosen words.

One mother could look after twelve children and decades later these twelve adults would fidget and struggle to look after that one mother.

If I don't know who I am, then how can I know what I want?

He said that everything in this world, small or large, was created for a reason. Even the smallest mosquito that bites people and makes them itch. There is wisdom behind that itch, in that it can be a substitute for a corresponding irritation in Hell. He said that every trouble we land in comes from a sin which would not be forgiven without that trouble.

Later when we became friends she told me that being a viper was lucrative.

Ever since 9/11, jihad has become synonymous with terrorism,' she said. 'I blame the Wahabis and Salafists for this. Jihad is an internal and spiritual struggle.

It was an effort formulating this summary, explaining myself. I preferred the distant past, centuries that were over and done with, ghosts that posed no direct threat. History could be milked for this cause or that. We observed it always with hindsight, projecting onto it our modern convictions and anxieties.

I'm researching the types of weapons used in jihad. My thesis is that they reflect the technology of their time and are often the same as those used by the enemy.' I chewed on my toast. 'Well, that makes sense.' 'But it violates some of the Sharia's rules, rules which have been conveniently forgotten. Such as not using fire because it is only Allah's prerogative to burn sinners in Hell. No human being should use fire on another human being.

So, according to the guidelines, how should his response be classified? Did he tick this particular box or not? According to the guidelines, a student who was 'vulnerable to radicalisation' would have symptoms of regression, a hankering for an idealised past, a misguided belief in authenticity.

Sufism delves into the hidden truth behind the disguise.

If she hadn't queued for the forms, he wouldn't have. That was their pattern, what came naturally to them both – she did the legwork and the research so that they could brainstorm and fumble towards a decision in which he would have the final word.

A storm was inside her and she could not subdue it. If she could be sure, if she could hold Lydia again, if she could kiss her cool cheeks, if she could put her finger on that mouth that couldn't swallow, that couldn't cry, that no longer needed her, that no longer knew her, then maybe she could settle down. Hope was the devil, hope wrestled with her and wouldn't let her rest.

Like the Sudanese sun drying wet cotton, bleaching it with its rays, he felt his sluggish mood evaporating, his irritation and anger giving way to lightness. He would go home now refreshed, his energy replenished, his armour strengthened.

I had figured out, long ago, that it paid to do what the competition found difficult, distasteful or even just a waste of time.

She wanted this feeling of home to settle inside her until it gave her the sweetest of dreams.

Peace was a more dignified version of defeat.

All my life I had been living. How to imagine any other state?

They had moved, as she had moved symbolically, from the built monastery near the loch to the emptiness of the mountains. Left behind the hushed, thick, sombre atmosphere of organised religion and travelled up to where there was simplicity and balance. Not the indulgence of the secluded life, neither the gratification of service, nor the voluptuousness of identity. No, here was aloneness. The nothing of it. Just to be small, a conscious part of the whole

It was a continuation. A flow meandering but not changing direction, because the direction had always been the same. The paths might be infinite, but the destination one.

What was life like ? deprivation and abundance, side by side like a miracle. surrender to them both . Poverty and sunshine, poverty and jewels in the sky . Drought and the gushing Nile Disease and clean hearts, stories from neighbours and relationships .

In every journey, there comes a point, around three quarters of the way through, when the traveller, without a guide, can go no further. But not everyone finds a guide. Not everyone accepts a guide. Not everyone is convinced. Many would rather keep fumbling on their own, trying and trying again. They would rather risk not completing the journey, they would rather risk getting lost or content themselves with the advance already made, than follow in trust.

I was 24 years old and stuck in a strange place with two boisterous little boys, and my husband was working offshore on the oil rigs. It was a life for which I wasn't prepared.