Sparks: Iran says no 'tangible progress' in war talks, Trump says deal close

How long will you tolerate a consul who proclaims a treaty's completion while the foreign minister declares its very foundations are not yet laid?

The men declare progress from their distant rooms, while the wives of the besieged and the occupying soldier alike count the empty chairs at their own tables.

If we say the house is built when one man claims the roof is on and another says the foundation is missing, then we deceive only ourselves about the coming storm.

A committee announces the door to the negotiations is now open, but the hallway leading to it has been declared a separate department requiring its own application.

Wager then on the man who describes the abyss, not the one who assures you the bridge is nearly complete while you hear no hammer strikes.

Observe the soldier cleaning his weapon during the proclaimed ceasefire, and you will understand more than all the dispatches from the chancelleries.

Observing the adaptive coloration of public statements, one notes a selective advantage for the appearance of progress, irrespective of any substantive change on the ground.

You do not declare the river crossed until you feel the solid bank underfoot, no matter what the mapmaker claims from his safe office.

These declarations of peace are but swarms of atoms in the void, colliding with the harder, sharper atoms of deployed ordnance.

The concentrated interest of the arms dealer thrives on the very uncertainty that the dispersed interest of the civilian population is powerless to resolve.

From my vantage, the quality of the bread in the market and the tension in the porter's shoulders tell a clearer tale than the official bulletins.

Record each strike, each fatality, each broken promise; the column of dates and coordinates will indict the fiction of progress more surely than any editorial.

Before you tear down the old framework of enmity, you must first explain why it was built, and the new architects have only blueprints for a facade.

In one court they serve sweet tea and speak of peace, while in the next village the caravan master doubles his price for crossing the contested valley.

A theological dispute over principles masks a political failure to separate the jurisdiction of the negotiator from the authority of the general.