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In Kabul, hot running water had been like fathers, a rare commodity.

Khaled Hosseini

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Khaled Hosseini
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: March 4
Medical Writer
Novelist
Physician
Physician Writer
Writer
Cabool
Father
Running
Like
Kabul
Commodity
Fathers
Rare
Hot
Water

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the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion
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I think he loved us equally, but differently.
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You’re not going to cry, are you? - I am not going to cry! Not over you. Not in a thousand years.
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If America taught me anything, it's that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scouts' lemonade jar.
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Kabul was a thriving cosmopolitan city with its vibrant artistic, intellectual and cultural life. There were poets, musicians, and writers. There was also an influx of western culture, art, and literature in the '60s and '70s.
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The country [Afghanistan] faces enormous problems. There is a violent insurgency hampering the rule of law and developmental efforts.
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Now, especially in public places, you always have that unease. When the children were cast, if I thought that they might be victims of violence because of participating in this movie, we would have chosen children from outside this country.
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Literary fiction is kept alive by women. Women read more fiction, period.
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And one more thing...You will never again refer to him as 'Hazara boy' in my presence. He has a name and it's Sohrab.
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I shook my head no. For minutes, neither of us spoke a word. It breathed between us, what he had said, the pain of a life suppressed, of happiness never to be.
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I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
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I believe Fabio Celoni's work vividly brings to life not only the mountains, the bazaars, the city of Kabul and its kite-dotted skies, but also the many struggles, conflicts, and emotional highs and lows of Amir's journey [from the The Kite Runner].
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If thou art indeed my father, then hast thou stained thy sword in the life-blood of thy son. And thous didst it of thine obstinacy. For I sought to turn thee unto love, and I implored of thee thy name, for I thought to behold in thee the tokens recounted of my mother. But I appealed unto thy heart in vain, and now is the time gone for meeting.
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some stories don't need telling
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You say you felt a presence, but I only sensed an absence. A vague pain without a source. I was like a patient who cannot tell the doctor where it hurts, only that it does.
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She said, 'I'm so afraid.' And I said, 'why?,' and she said, 'Because I'm so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' I asked her why and she said, 'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you.
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She would grab whatever she could -a look , a whisper , a moan - to salvage from perishing , to perserve. But time is most unforgivving of fires , and she couldn't , in the end , save it all .
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The bulk of our efforts [in The Khaled Hosseini Foundation] has focused on helping build permanent shelters for returning refugees who are homeless, living out in the open or in makeshift homes. This is an area of urgent need as Afghanistan's natural elements are quite harsh, with very hot summers, and freezing winters.
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I found myself sitting at the computer, and I thought I was going to write a kind of simple nostalgic story about two boys and their love of kite fighting. But stories have a will of their own, and this one turned out to be this dark tale about betrayal, loss, regret. The short story which was about 25 pages long sat around for a couple of years.
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People in the countryside carry a sense of dignity. They wear it, don't they? Like a badge? I'm being genuine.
Khaled Hosseini