This quote is in a much more serious vein...seriously. It's the first paragraph from The Road From Home by Devid Kherdian. It tells the story of a young girl caught up in the Armenian holocaust that began in 1915.
For as long as I knew the sky and the clouds, we lived in our white stucco house in the Armenian quarter of Azizya, in Turkey, but when the great dome of Heaven cracked and shattered over our lives, and we were abandoned by the sun and blown like scattered seed across the Arabian desert, none returned but me, and my Azizya, my precious home, was made to crumble and fall and forever disappear from my life.
Will you share the title of one of your favorite dramatic, non-fiction books?
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