Ziad Zoubian

“A huge maze of tents and mud huts and homes built from plastic and aluminum siding in a labyrinth of narrow passageways littered with dirt and shit. It was a city in the belly of a yet greater city. He had lived in a small mud house there with his brothers… In its alleyways, he and his brothers had learned to walk and talk. They had gone to school there. He had played with sticks and rusty old bicycle wheels on its dirty streets, running around with other refugee kids, until the sun dipped and his grandmother called him home.”
― Khaled Hosseini And The Mountains Echoed

“The day’s colors slowly dissolved into gray, and the distant mountain peaks became opaque silhouettes of crouching giants. Earlier in the day, they had passed by several villages, most of them far-flung and dusty just like Shadbagh. Small square-shaped homes made of baked mud, sometimes raised into the side of a mountain and sometimes not, ribbons of smoke rising from their roofs. Wash lines, women squatting by cooking fires. A few poplar trees, a few chickens, a handful of cows and goats, and always a mosque.”
― Khaled Hosseini And The Mountains Echoed

“A life lived from the back seat, observed as it blured by. An indifferent life.”
― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

“hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon.”
― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed