Quotes About Connection

I thought about you all the time. I used to pray that you'd live to be a hundred years old. I didn't know. I didn't know that you were ashamed of me.

I don't know what this feather means, the story of it, but I know it means he was thinking of me. For all these years. He remembered me.

She wished she could visit Mariam's grave, to sit with her awhile, leave a flower or two. But she sees now that it doesn't matter. Mariam is never very far.... Mariam is in her own heart, where she shines with the bursting radiance of a thousand suns.

Not a word passes between us, not because we have nothing to say, but because we don't have to say anything - that is how, it is between people who are each other's first memories

It was you Nabi. It was always you. Didn't you know?

And I wrote you. Volumes. Volumes.

In my experience, men who understand women seem to rarely want to have anything to do with them.

There was brotherhood between people who had fed from the same breast, a kinship that even time could not break. - Amir

All my life, she gave to me a shovel and said, Fill these holes inside of me, Pari.

She was like the dust that clung to his shirt. She was in the silences that had become so frequent at the house, silences that welled up between their words, sometimes cold and hollow, sometimes pregnant with things that went unsaid, like a cloud filled with rain that never fell.

She was my mother and she would not leave me. This I had simply accepted and expected. I had no more thanked her for it than i did the sun for shining on me.

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.

You say their stories, it is gift they give you.

Her eyes, walnut brown and shaded by fanned lashes, met mine. Held for a moment. Flew away.

You are lucky. How so? To know where you came from. I guess I never gave it much thought.: Bah, of course not. But it is important to know this, to know your roots. To know where you started as a person. If not, your own life seems unreal to you. Like a puzzle. Vous comprenez? Like you missed the beginning of a story and now you are in the middle of it, trying to understand.

Take two Afghans who've never met, put them in a room for ten minutes, and they'll figure out how they're related.

I used to picture us as two leaves, blowing miles apart in the wind yet bound by the deep tangled roots of the tree from which we had both fallen.

How could I be such an open book to him when, half the time, I had no idea what was milling around in his head?

Mariam is in Laila's own heart, where she shines with the bursting radiance of a thousand suns.

Biliyorsun. Neyi biliyorum? Gözlerimin sadece seni gördüÄŸünü.

The kinship I felt suddenly for the old land . . . it surprised me . . . I thought I had forgotten about this land. But I hadn't. . . . Maybe Afghanistan hadn't forgotten me either.

And if he knew, then what would I see if I did look in his eyes? Blame? Indignation? Or, God forbid, what I feared most: guileless devotion? That, most of all, I couldn't bear to see.

Tidak ada kata yang terucap, tidak ada yang perlu kami katakan, inilah harta yang dimiliki oleh mereka yang menyimpan kenangan yang sama, yang saling menjadi kenangan pertama, yang menyusu dari payudara yang sama.

In the parlance of economics, Julien has said to Pari that if she cut off the supply of attention, perhaps the demands for it would cease as well.