Quotes About Observation

You've always been a tourist here. You just didn't know it.

A life lived from the back seat, observed as it blured by. An indifferent life.

You see, some things I can teach you. Some you learn from books. But there are things that, well, you just have to see and feel.

He had the blue kite in his hands; that was the first thing I saw. And I can't lie now and say my eyes didn't scan it for any rips.

You? You've always been a tourist here, you just didn't know it.

LAILA WOULD REMEMBER the muted ceremony in bits and fragments. The cream-colored stripes of Rasheed's suit. The sharp smell of his hair spray. The small shaving nick just above his Adam's apple. The rough pads of his tobacco-stained fingers when he slid the ring on her. The pen. Its not working. The search for a new pen. The contract. The signing, his sure-handed, hers quavering. The prayers. Noticing, in the mirror, that Rasheed had trimmed his eyebrows.

I watch because of that look of acceptance in the animal's eyes. Absurdly, I imagine the animal understands. I imagined the animal sees that its imminent demise is for a higher purpose.

You see, some things I can teach you. Some you learn from books. But they are things that, well, you just have to see and feel. p.147

Her eyes traced the sleek shape of the table's legs, the sinuous curves of its corners, the gleam of its reflective, dark brown surface. She noticed that every time she breathed out, the surface fogged, and she disappeared from her father's table.

You've always been a tourist here, you just didn't know it.

who was looked at, not seen, listened to, not heard.

In the mirror, Mariam had her first glimpse of Rasheed: the big, square, ruddy face; the crooked nose; the flushed cheeks that gave the impression of sly cheerfulness; the watery, bloodshot eyes; the crowded teeth, the front two pushed together like a gables roof; the impossible low hairline, barely two fingers widths above the bushy eyebrows; the wall of thick, coarse, salt-and-pepper hair. Their gazes met briefly in the glass and slid away. This is the face of my husband, Mariam thought.

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.

You see, some things I can teach you. Some you'll learn from books. But, there are things that, well, you just have to see and feel.

A life lived from the backseat, observed as it blurred by. An indifferent life.

He didn't so much live with us as occupy space. And precious little of it. Sometimes, at the market, or in the park, I'd notice how other people hardly seemed to even see him, like he wasn't there at all. I'd look up from a book and realize Sohrab had entered the room, had sat across from me, and I hadn't noticed. He walked like he was afraid to leave behind footprints. He moved as if not to stir the air around him. Mostly, he slept.

All my life, I have lived like an aquarium fish in the safety of a glass tank, behind a barrier as impenetrable as it has been transparent. I have been free to observe the glimmering world on the other side, to picture myself in it, if I like. But I have always been contained, hemmed in, by the hard, unyielding confines of the existence

soon after we arrived in the U.S., Baba started grumbling about American flies. He'd sit at the kitchen table with his flyswatter, watch the flies darting from wall to wall, buzzing here, buzzing there, harried and rushed. In this country, even flies are pressed for time, he'd groan.

There are things that have to be taught, others learnt from books; but there are some things that you just have to see and feel.

That must be our man," Farid said. The tall Talib with the black

A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how.

Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.

A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different amounts depending on who was seeing things and how.

Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," he said, very still and unmoving. "Always jumping to the wrong conclusion. You're like a frog, you know.