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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.
Khaled Hosseini
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Khaled Hosseini
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: March 4
Medical Writer
Novelist
Physician
Physician Writer
Writer
Cabool
Head
Word
Suppressed
Happiness
Breathed
Pain
Shook
Never
Spokes
Life
Spoke
Neither
Minutes
More quotes by Khaled Hosseini
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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The story line of my novel [The Kite Runner] is largely fictional. The characters were invented and the plot imagined.
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Afghanistan has always been sort of a fractured nation, very tribal, where the countryside and the distant provinces have been run by custom, by tribal law and by tribal leaders rather than edicts from the central government in Kabul.
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A great deal remains to be done in Afghanistan and the jury is out as to whether the international community has the commitment and the patience to see the rebuilding process through.
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There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.
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Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.
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Writing for me is largely about rewriting.
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President Karzai is an incredibly kind and decent man. I had the pleasure of meeting him, and he genuinely cares for his people. But I think he had too much of a tendency to want to rule by listening to all voices at all times.
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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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I don't know whom or what he was defying. [...] [M]aybe the God he had never believed in.
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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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If my book generates any sort of dialogue among Afghans, then I think it will have done a service to the community.
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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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Hassan and I fed from the same breasts. We took our first steps on the same lawn in the same yard. And, under the same roof, we spoke our first words. Mine was Baba. His was Amir. My name. Looking back on it now, I think the foundation for what happened in the winter of 1975 —and all that followed— was already laid in those first words.
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and yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had love and been loved back. she was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. a mother. a person of consequence at last.
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Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft.
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I think novelists, when they write their books, end up having occasionally serving a purpose and playing roles that they never really fully either intended or even understood.
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Must have been quite the culture shock, going there.” “Yes it was.” Idris doesn’t say that the real culture shock has been in coming back.
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sometimes the shifting of rocks is deep, deep below, and it's powerful and scary down there, but that all we feel on the surface is a slight tremor. Only a slight tremor.
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Air grew heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks.
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