Quotes About Struggle

After all, didn't all fathers in their secret hearts harbor a desire to kill their sons?

I wished I could open my veins and drain his cursed blood from my body.

Laila was shocked at how easily she'd come unhinged, but, the truth was, part of her had liked it, had liked how it felt to scream at Mariam, to curse her, to have a target at which to focus all her simmering anger, her grief.

She remembered all too well how time had dragged without him, how she had shuffled about feeling waylaid, out of balance. How she could ever cope with his permanent absence?

After all, didn't all fathers in their secret hearts harbor a desire to kill their sons?

Kabul is . . ." Idris searches for the right words. "A thousand tragedies per square mile.

Though there had been moments of beauty in it, Mariam knew that life for the most part had been unkind to her. But as she walked the final twenty paces, she could not help but wish for more of it.

For courage, there must be something at stake.

Mereka bernasib naas, memiliki ayah yang lemah. Seorang pengecut yang lebih memilih melihat mereka semua mati daripada menyiksa nuraninya sendiri.

Ä°zin veriyorum, çünkü belki yard?mlar? dokunur, diyorum. Ama unutup gidiyorlar. Bir daha onlardan haber alm?yorum. Onun için de sana soruyorum: Åžimdi ne olacak?

Konopac koji te spasi od poplave može ti postati om?a oko vrata.

Laila lay there and listened, wishing Mammy would notice that she, Laila, hadn't become shaheed, that she was alive, here, in bed with her, that she had hopes and a future. But Laila knew that her future was no match for her brothers' past. They had overshadowed her in life. They would obliterate her in death. Mammy was now the curator of their lives' museum and she, Laila, a mere visitor. A receptacle for their myths. The parchment on which Mammy meant to ink their legends.

Me ardía la cara. Ahí estaba de nuevo mi pasado; mi pasado era así, siempre volvía a aparecer. Su nombre surgía desde lo más profundo de mi ser, pero no quería pronunciarlo por temor a que se materializara.

Kami meninggalkan mayat-mayat itu di jalan, dan kalau keluarga mereka mencoba menyelinap untuk menyeret kembali mayat-mayat itu ke rumah mereka, kami tak akan ragu menembak mereka. Kami membiarkan mayat-mayat itu menjadi santapan anjing. Daging anjing hanya cocok untuk anjing.

They feel wronged. they haven't been given their due. No one loved them enough. Of course they expect you to love them. They want to be held, rocked, reassured. But it's a mistake to give it to them. They can't accept it. They can't accept the very thing they're needing. They end up hating you for it. And it never ends because they can't hate you enough. It never ends - the misery, the apologies, the promises, the reneging, the wretchedness of it all.

Seperti dalam perang mana pun, kami harus mempersiapkan diri untuk bertempur.

She said this in a pragmatic, almost indifferent, tone, and Mariam understood that this was a woman far past outrage. Here was a woman, she thought, who had understood that she was lucky to even be working, that there was always something, something else, that they could take away.

marveling at how every Afghan story is marked by death and loss and unimaginable grief.

Masalahku adalah selalu ada seseorang yang berjuang untukku.

8- I walk in dusty sunsets through streets lined with graffiti-stained walls, past tin-shed stalls packed tightly against one another, crossing paths with little girls carrying basketfuls of raw dung on their heads women covered in black soot boiling rags in huge aluminum vats.

9- I watch the kids shooting marbles on sidewalks that melt into muddy gutters, the old women sitting in doorways, the street vendors in dhotis squatting on their mats, scrapping coconuts, hawking marigold garlands.

Ma gandesc la el acum, necajit si pierdut, clatinandu-se pe picioare prin desert, iar pe poteca din spatele lui se afla toate acele bucati marunte si stralucitoare pe care viata le-a luat de la el.

and my own helplessness in the face of it, makes everything I have done, everything I want to do, seem as unsubstantial as the little vows you make yourself as you're going to sleep, the ones you're already forgotten by the time you wake up

El silencio de Sohrab no era el silencio que alguien se impone a sí mismo por determinadas convicciones, ni el de los manifestantes que reivindican su causa sin pronunciar palabra. Era el silencio de quien se ha refugiado en un escondrijo oscuro, de quien se ha hecho un ovillo y se ha ocultado.