The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 36 Soho Square, London. 2004. p 324

Excerpts:

p 15
‘Hmmm,’ Baba crushed an ice cube between his teeth. ‘Do you want to know what your father thinks about sin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ Baba said, ‘but first understand this and understand it now, Amir. You’ll never learn anything of value from those bearded idiots.’
‘You mean Mullah Fatiullah Khan?’
Baba gestured with his glass. The eyes clinked. ‘I mean all of them. Piss on the beards of all those self-righteous monkeys.’
I began to giggle. The image of Baba pissing on the beard of any monkey, self-righteous or otherwise, was too much.
‘They do nothing but thumb their prayer beads and recite a book written in a tongue they don’t even understand.’ He took a sip. ‘God help us all if Afghanistan ever falls on their hands.’

p 16
‘When you kill a man, you steal a life.’ Baba said. ‘You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. Do you see?’
…
‘There is no act more wretched than stealing, Amir.’ Baba said. ‘A man who takes whats not his to take, be it a life or a loaf of naan… I spit on such a man. And if I ever cross paths with him, God help him. Do you understand?’
I found the idea of Baba clobbering a thief both exhilarating and terribly frightening. ‘Yes, Baba.’
‘If there’s a God out there, then I would hope he has more important things to attend to then my drinking scotch or eating pork. Now hop down. All this talk about sin has made me thirsty again.’

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p 169
On those night, we’d each roll to our side of the bed and let our own saviour take us away. Soraya’s was sleep. Mine, as always, was a book.

p. 173
for Taliban – football game between Kabut & Mazar-e-sharif, when Kabul made goal – an eighteen year old boy carrying Kalashinikov, would hit the butt if anybody cheered for that.

p. 181
Afghan way of dying – landmine

p. 190
everyday I thank Allah that I am alive, not because I fear death, but because my wife has a husband and my son is not an orphan.

p. 201
As a afghan, it is better to be miserable than rude.

p. 241
Nothing wrong with cowardice as long as it comes with prudence.

p. 249
ethnic cleansing.

p. 277
There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.