“ Da dove devo cominciare? Intanto, va chiarita subito una cosa fondamentale: un romanziere non scrive mai tutto quello che sa sui suoi personaggi. I lettori non devono venire a sapere tutto. Alcuni asp… Cornelia Funke
“ A story is a labyrinth, it looks as if there were several ways to go, but only one is right, and there's a nasty surprise ready to punish you for every false step. Cornelia Funke
“ Истории никогда не кончаются, Мегги, - сказал он ей однажды. - Хотя книжки любят делать вид, будто это не так. Истории продолжаются, они не заканчиваются на последней странице, как и начинаются не на… Cornelia Funke
“ Forget them, or the loss of them all will drive you mad. But his heart simply did not obey. Memories, so sweet and so bitter … they had both nourished and devoured him for so many years. Until a time… Cornelia Funke
“ When the heart craved something so forcefully, then reason became nothing but helpless observer. Cornelia Funke
“ What was this yearning, tearing at her insides like hunger and thirst? It couldn't be love. Love was warm and soft, like a bed of leaves. But this was dark, like the shade under a poisonous shrub, and… Cornelia Funke
“ What was a slap for ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world? Cornelia Funke
“ Weren’t all books ultimately related? After all, the same letters filled them, just arranged in a different order. Which meant that, in a certain way, every book was contained in every other! Cornelia Funke
“ Well what does it matter,' he muttered when he was out in the corridor. 'Who wants to know the end of a story in advance? Cornelia Funke
“ They had gone. Had left him alone with all the blue, that clashed with the red of fire. Blue as the evening sky, blue as cranesbill flowers, blue as the lips of drowned men and the heart of a blaze bu… Cornelia Funke
“ There was another reason [she] took her books whenever they went away. They were her home when she was somewhere strange. They were familiar voices, friends that never quarreled with her, clever, powe… Cornelia Funke
“ There is a sort of busy worm, That will the fairest book deform. Their tasteless tooth will tear and taint The poet, patriot, sage or saint, Nor sparing wit nor learning. Now, if you’d know the reason… Cornelia Funke
“ The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal. The ticking of a clock. The groan of a floorboard as he slipped out of his room. All was drowned by its silence. But Jacob loved the night.… Cornelia Funke
“ Sometimes, when I went to the spring to wash early in the morning, he murmured, there'd be tiny fairies flitting around above the water, not much bigger than the butterflies you have here, and blue as… Cornelia Funke
“ Sai bene come finiscono gli eroi. Non hanno né mogli né figli, e non diventano vecchi. Cornelia Funke
