“Hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon.”

And every day I thank [God] that I am alive, not because I fear death, but because my wife has a husband and my son is not an orphan.

Years later, I learned an English word for the creature that Assef was, a word for which a good Farsi equivalent does not exist: sociopath.

I’m gladly doing my own thing for the time being.

I laughed. Partly at the joke, partly at how Afghan humor never changed. Wars were waged, the Internet was invented, and a robot had rolled on the surface of Mars, and in Afghanistan we were still telling Mullah Nasruddin jokes.

It always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place.

I learned that the world didn’t see the inside of you, that it didn’t care a whit about the hopes and dreams, and sorrows, that lay masked by skin and bone. It was as simple, as absurd, and as cruel as that.

Beauty is an enormous, unmerited gift given randomly, stupidly.

People say that eyes are windows to the soul.

Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.

A pathetic shadow, torn between her envy and thrill of being seen with Masomma, sharing in the attention as a weed would, lapping up water meant for the lily upstream.

Time can be a greedy thing-sometimes it steals the details for itself.

They say, Find a purpose in your life and live it. But, sometimes, it is only after you have lived that you recognize your life had a purpose, and likely one you never had in mind.

Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.

What good is regret? It brings back nothing. What we have lost is irretrievable.

Some stories don’t need telling.

Nothing good came free. Even love. You paid for all things. And if you were poor, suffering was your currency.

Learn to appreciate your flaws, they make you beautiful.

The most beautiful gift that a writer can receive is to know that the reader can feel the emotions in every word.

when the oceans heart breaks and the mermaid cries, her tears become sea glass-a gentle reminder that sometimes beautiful things come from pain.

Let the moon teach you the art of scars. How beautiful you can shine, even with craters in your heart.

A smile is the simplest yet most beautiful sign of beauty.

She is an old soul, with young eyes. An euphoric heart and a beautiful mind.

Darkness is beautiful, once you learn to play with the shadow.

Time is a gentleman! It never erases beautiful things.