"[...] امروز هم کسی اگر صدايم کرد
بگو خانه نيست
بگو رفته است شمال
می‌خواهم به جنوب بينديشم "

هشیار آن که خلاص در این منزل نجوید، خاصه از او که بشارتش دهد، که همو زحمت جان فزون کند.

What keeps me sane these days is the dream of travelling in southern Iran in an old noisy bus that smells like burnt oil, on a road where there is dust in the air and palm trees on one side and the desert on the other side with few sad shacks and their rusty signs, and no one in mind to think of.

I dream of hell and I find peace, for there's a place there for me, and for me only. Where my heavenly friends are left behind, and the tranquility protected by untamed flames is mine to embrace.