"In the end, I was Pashtun, and he was a hazara, I was Sunni and he was Sh'ia, and nothing was going to change that" -Amir pg. 25
“I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t.”
but my father showed up with a gun that night. He told...him...that he had two bullets in the chamber, one for him and one for himself if I didn't come home. I was screaming, calling my father all kinds of names, saying he couldn't keep me locked up forever, that I wished he were dead. I actually said that to him, that I wished he were dead.
Because the truth of it was, I always felt like Baba hated me a little. And why not? After all, I had killed his beloved wife, his beautiful princess, hadn’t I? The least I could have done was to have had the decency to have turned out a little more like him. But I hadn’t turned out like him. (Ch. 03)
Baba pulled twelve-hour shifts pumping gas, running the register, changing oil, and washing windshields. I'd bring him lunch sometimes and find him looking for a pack of cigarettes on the shelves. The electronic bell over the door would ding-dong when I walked in, and Baba would look over his shoulder, wave, and smile, his eyes watering from fatigue. (11.28)
I opened my mouth and almost told her how'd I betrayed Hassan, lied, driven him out, and destroyed a forty-year-relationship between Baba and Ali. But I didn't. I suspected there were many ways in which Soraya Taheri was a better person than me. Courage just one of them. (12.174)
I didn't tell you
Baba's spittle turned red. He was biting his tongue. I kneeled beside him and grabbed his arms and said I'm here Baba, I'm here, you'll be all right, I'm right here. As if I could soothe the convulsions out of him. Talk them into leaving my Baba alone. I felt a wetness on my knees. Saw Baba's bladder had let go. Shhh, Baba jan, I'm here. Your son is right here. (12.135-138)