Tariq tucked the gun into the waist of his denims. Then he said a thing both lovely and terrible. "For you," he said. "I'd kill with it for you, Laila.

People…shouldn’t be allowed to have new children if they’d already given away all their love to their old ones. It wasn’t fair.

In Kabul, hot running water had been like fathers, a rare commodity.

The impact had cut your upper lip in two, he had said, clean down the middle. Clean down the middle. Like a harelip.

Laila has moved on. Because in the end she knows that’s all she can do. That and hope.

Perspective [is] a luxury when your head [is] constantly buzzing with a swarm of demons.

The warlords took part in atrocities during the civil war in Afghanistan. They looted, they raped, they killed. They have become incredibly empowered and entrenched. They live in mansions, they have jobs in the government, and they're incredibly powerful. In Kabul, people don't want to speak about it too publicly, because these people are essentially like Tony Soprano.