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

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.

Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft.

And one more thing...You will never again refer to him as 'Hazara boy' in my presence. He has a name and it's Sohrab.

Her impulse, her need, to be the corrector of injustices, warden of the downtrodden flock. And

I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away.

It turned out that, like Satan, cancer had many names.