I felt as if my parents had pushed me into the street, that a deal had been made and I was being passed into the hands of a man. At least he is a good man, I thought, even if his hands are not as clean as they could be.

Artists teach critics what to think. Critics repeat what the artists teach them.

He’d never seen a rain quite like this so gentle that it seemed barely to fall yet slowly laid its shine on the bay leaves and hydrangea flowers…

It's like describing music. He cannot bring it to life.

Written By Khaled Hosseini

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