Quotes about algerian

Yes, I am Algerian of Moroccan origin through my parents, but all my life is Algeria. I was born there.

quote by Ahmed Ben Bella
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

See quotes about birth, or quotes about life

From their point of view, I had gone too far. I had to disappear. That is to say, if the Algerian army had not overthrown me, others would have done so.

quote by Ahmed Ben Bella
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

My sweet homeland

As we pray to our Lord above
We fill all the worlds with songs of love
And lyric lines of auspicious verses
Which are sung by algerian doves
The soul of art and the muse of mind
And pluses of peace for all mankind

O Algeria! my sweet homeland!
And the greatest marvel of all countries.
You are an immortal divine proof
And the smile of God throughout centuries
You are the shinning dawn of miracles
and The first cradle of remote ancestries

poem by Lassakeur Youcef
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Also see the following:

Long Time I Lay In Little Ease

LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE

LONG time I lay in little ease
Where, placed by the Turanian,
Marseilles, the many-masted, sees
The blue Mediterranean.

Now songful in the hour of sport,
Now riotous for wages,
She camps around her ancient port,
As ancient of the ages.

Algerian airs through all the place
Unconquerably sally;
Incomparable women pace
The shadows of the alley.

And high o'er dark and graving yard
And where the sky is paler,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Also see the following:

The Deodand

What are these women up to? They’ve gone and strung
Drapes over the windows, cutting out light
And the slightest hope of a breeze here in mid-August.
Can this be simply to avoid being seen
By some prying femme-de-chambre across the boulevard
Who has stepped out on a balcony to disburse
Her dustmop gleanings on the summer air?
And what of these rugs and pillows, all haphazard,
Here in what might be someone’s living room
In the swank, high-toned sixteenth arrondissement?
What would their fathers, husbands, fiancés,
Those pillars of the old haute-bourgeoisie,
Think of the strange charade now in the making?
Swathed in exotic finery, in loose silks,
Gauzy organzas with metallic threads,
Intricate Arab vests, brass ornaments
At wrist and ankle, those small sexual fetters,
Tight little silver chains, and bangled gold
Suspended like a coarse barbarian treasure
From soft earlobes pierced through symbolically,