The library was like a second home. Or maybe more like a real home, more than the place I lived in. By going every day I got to know all the lady librarians who worked there. They knew my name and always said hi. I was painfully shy, though, and could barely reply.

soul of man, when it gets fairly rotten, will bear you all sorts of poisonous toad-stools, and no eye can see whence came the seed thereof.

I have in my mind’s eye an image of what a perfect mother and wife should be; and in her whom I must call “Mother” I find no trace of that image.

Written By Khaled Hosseini

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