She remembered all too well how time had dragged without him$$$ how she had shuffled about feeling waylaid$$$ out of balance. How she could ever cope with his permanent absence?

Thirteen days. Almost two weeks. And$$$ just five days in$$$ she had learned a fundamental truth about time: Like the accordion on which old Pashto songs were sometimes played$$$ time stretched and contracted depending on his absence or presence.

Thirteen days. Almost two weeks. And$$$ just five days in$$$ she had learned a fundamental truth about time: Like the accordion on which sometimes played old Pashto songs were played$$$ time stretched and contracted depending on his absence or presence.

With the passing of time$$$ she would slowly tire of this exercise. She would find it increasingly exhausting to conjure up$$$ to dust off$$$ to resuscitate once again what was long dead. There would come a day$$$ in fact$$$ years later$$$ when [she] would no longer bewail his loss. Or not as relentlessly; not nearly. There would come a day when the details of his face would begin to slip from memory's grip$$$ when overhearing a mother on the street call after her child by [his] name would no longer cut her adrift.

... I have dreams of you too$$$ Mariam jo. I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice$$$ your laughter. I miss reading to you$$$ and all those times we fished together. Do you remember all those times we fished together? You were a good daughter$$$ Mariam jo$$$ and I cannot ever think of you without feeling shame and regret. Regret… When it comes to you$$$ Mariam jo$$$ I have oceans of it. I regret that I did not see you the day you came to Herat. I regret that I did not open the door and take you in.

You see$$$ some things I can teach you. Some you learn from books. But there are things that$$$ well$$$ you just have to see and feel.

A society has no chance of success if it's women are uneducated.

When Aziza first spotted Mariam in the morning$$$ her eyes always sprang open$$$ and she began mewling and squirming in her mother's grip. She thrust her arms toward Mariam$$$ demanding to be held$$$ her tiny hands opening and closing urgently$$$ on her face a look of both adoration and quivering anxiety..."Why have you pinned your little heart to an old$$$ ugly hag like me?" Mariam would murmur into Aziza's hair... "What have I got to give you?"But Aziza only muttered contentedly and dug her face in deeper. And when she did that$$$ Mariam swooned.

I’m all you have in this world Mariam$$$ and when I’m gone you’ll have nothing. You ARE nothing!

And that$$$ ...is the story of our country$$$ one invasion after another...Macedonians. Saddanians. Arabs. Mongols. Now the Soviets. But we're like those walls up there. Battered$$$ and nothing pretty to look at$$$ but still standing.