欧宝娱乐

“Furthermore, I refuse to wear a burqa. Of all the burdens they've put on us, that's the most degrading. The Shirt of Nessus woudn't do as much damage to my dignity as that wretched getup. It cancels my face and takes away my identity and turns me into an object. Here, at least, I'm me Zunaira, Mohsen Ramat's wife, age thirty-two, former magistrate, dismissed by obscurantists without a hearing and without compensation, but with enough self-respect left to brush my hair every day and pay attention to my clothes. If I put that damned veil on, I'm neither a human being nor an animal, I'm just an affront, a disgrace, a blemish that has to be hidden. That's too hard to deal with. Especially for someone who was a lawyer, who worked for women's rights. Please, I don't want you to think for a minute that I'm putting on some sort of act. I'd like to, you know, but unfortunately my heart's not in it anymore. Don't ask me to give up my name, my features, the color of my eyes, and the shape of my lips so I can take a walk through squalor and desolation. Don't ask me to become something less than a shadow, an anonymus thing rustling around in a hostile place.”
― Yasmina Khadra, Swallows of Kabul

“Look, look at my country, look at my Kabul, my city, what is left of my city? The streets are as bare as mountains now, the buildings are as ragged as mountains and as bare and empty of life, there is no life here only fear, we do not live in the buildings now, we live in terror in the cellars in the caves in the mountains, only God can save us now, only order can save us now, only God's Law harsh and strictly administered can save us now, only The Department for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice can save us now, only terror can save us from ruin, only neverending war, save us from terror and neverending war, save my wife they are stoning my wife, they are chasing her with sticks, save my wife save my daughter from punishment by God, save us from God, from war, from exile, from oil exploration, from no oil exploration, from the West, from the children with rifles, carrying stones, only children with rifles, carrying stones, can save us now.”
― Tony Kushner

“I looked westward and marveled that, somewhere over those mountains, Kabul still existed. It really existed, not just as an old memory, or as the heading of an AP story on page 15 of the San Francisco Chronicle.”
― Khaled Hosseini

“war. Or, rather, wars. Not one, not two, but many wars, both big and small, just and unjust, wars with shifting casts of supposed heroes and villains, each new hero making one increasingly nostalgic for the old villain. The names changed, as did the faces, and I spit on them equally for all the petty feuds, the snipers, the land mines, bombing raids, the rockets, the looting and raping and killing.”
― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

“Advisers were numberless in Kabul, like stray dogs in Mumbai.”
― Zia Haider Rahman, In the Light of What We Know

“On August 10, 1984, my plane landed in Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan. There were no skyscrapers here. The blue domes of the mosques and the faded mountains were the only things rising above the adobe duvals (the houses). The mosques came alive in the evening with multivoiced wailing: the mullahs were calling the faithful to evening prayer. It was such an unusual spectacle that, in the beginning, I used to leave the barracks to listen 鈥� the same way that, in Russia, on spring nights, people go outside to listen to the nightingales sing. For me, a nineteen-year-old boy who had lived his whole life in Leningrad, everything about Kabul was exotic: enormous skies 鈥� uncommonly starry 鈥� occasionally punctured by the blazing lines of tracers. And spread out before you, the mysterious Asian capital where strange people were bustling about like ants on an anthill: bearded men, faces darkend by the sun, in solid-colored wide cotton trousers and long shirts. Their modern jackets, worn over those outfits, looked completely unnatural. And women, hidden under plain dull garments that covered them from head to toe: only their hands visible, holding bulging shopping bags, and their feet, in worn-out shoes or sneakers, sticking out from under the hems.

And somewhere between this odd city and the deep black southern sky, the wailing, beautifully incomprehensible songs of the mullahs. The sounds didn't contradict each other, but rather, in a polyphonic echo, melted away among the narrow streets. The only thing missing was Scheherazade with her tales of A Thousand and One Arabian Nights ... A few days later I saw my first missile attack on Kabul. This country was at war.”
― Vladislav Tamarov, Afghanistan: A Russian Soldier's Story

“Citoyen suisse n茅 脿... Kaboul (un roman en soi), j鈥檃i l鈥檕utrecuidance d鈥櫭ヽrire dans cette langue qui depuis ma vie de lyc茅en jusque l鈥櫭e certain de la retraite a constitu茅 une de mes v茅ritables passions. Ma matrice intellectuelle 茅tait forg茅e par des Fran莽ais.

Mon premier livre "Au-del脿 des mers sal茅es... Un d茅sir de libert茅" est une autobiographie romanc茅e. Mes propres p茅r茅grinations servant de fil conducteur 脿 l鈥檕dyss茅e d鈥檜n jeune Afghan sorti de la 芦caverne de Platon禄 de Kaboul pour affronter les r茅alit茅s occidentales (un peu 芦Lettres persanes禄 脿 l鈥檈nvers. Avec, en toile de fond, la face jamais d茅voil茅e de l鈥橝fghanistan 芦d鈥檃vant禄. L鈥檋istoire de l鈥檕bsol猫te royaume ne commen莽ant pas, dans mon optique, avec l鈥檌nvasion du pays par les arm茅es sovi茅tiques.”
― Fateh Emam, Au-del脿 des mers sal茅es... Un d茅sir de libert茅

“Sen beni her zaman reddedip, zay谋f, 艧眉pheli arzular谋n tehlikesinden kurtararak g眉nden g眉ne senin taraf谋ndan kabul edilmeye 濒补测谋办 bir hale getiriyorsun.”
― Rabindranath Tagore

“I know what I said earlier, but Kabul isn鈥檛 that bad.鈥� Mrs. Wahdati toyed with her necklace absently. She was looking out the window, a heaviness set on her features. 鈥淚 like it best here at the end of spring, after the rains. The air so clean. That first burst of summer. The way the sun hits the mountains.”
― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

“B峄� kh么ng th峄� tin r岷眓g m矛nh 膽ang r峄漣 b峄� Kabul. B峄� h峄峜 峄� 膽芒y, ki岷縨 膽瓢峄 c么ng vi峄嘽 膽岷 ti锚n 峄� 膽芒y, tr峄� th脿nh m峄檛 ng瓢峄漣 b峄� 峄� th脿nh ph峄� n脿y. Th岷璽 l岷� l霉ng khi ngh末 膽岷縩 chuy峄噉 ch岷硁g bao l芒u b峄� s岷� ng峄� d瓢峄沬 m峄檛 b岷 tr峄漣 th脿nh ph峄� kh谩c.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“Korkun莽 olmas谋 gerekenin s谋radanl谋臒谋nday谋z.”
― Ozan 脰nen, Babam Beni 艦ahdamar谋mdan 脰pt眉

“(...) Kabulul devenise pentru mine un ora葯 al fantomelor. Un ora葯 al fantomelor cu buze de iepure.
America era diferit膬. America era un fluviu impetuos, nep膬s膬tor cu trecutul. Puteam s膬 m膬 scufund 卯n fluviul 膬sta, s膬-mi las p膬catele s膬 se 卯nece la fund, s膬 las apele s膬 m膬 duc膬 undeva, departe. Undeva unde nu sunt nici fantome, nici amintiri, nici p膬cate.
Chiar 葯i numai pentru asta, am adoptat America.”
― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

“醿曖儤醿� 醿涐儩醿♂儣醿曖儦醿樶儭 醿涐儩醿儤醿涐儶醿樶儧醿� 醿涐儣醿曖儛醿犪償醿斸儜醿�, 醿メ儛醿氠儛醿メ儤醿� 醿♂儛醿儯醿犪儛醿曖償醿戓儭 醿犪儩醿� 醿撫儛醿搬儨醿愥儣醿樶儭,
醿愥儨 醿愥儣醿愥儭 醿涐儩醿斸儦醿曖儛醿犪償 醿涐儢醿斸儭, 醿涐儤醿� 醿欋償醿撫儦醿斸儜醿� 醿椺儛醿曖儴醿斸儰醿愥儬醿斸儜醿ａ儦醿�. - 醿♂儛醿斸儜 醿椺儛醿戓儬醿樶儢醿樶儭 醿氠償醿メ儭醿� 醿メ儛醿戓儯醿氠儢醿�”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns