Was she happy? Yes. And no. Because now the words were back, and with them the name that had spun gold around her heart for so long she hardly remembered how things had felt before him.
This book taught me, once and for all, how easily you can escape this world with the help of words! You can find friends between the pages of a book, wonderful friends!
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...
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...
The tent in which she first met him had smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had thought of it all as a game. She had promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of...
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....
The Weaver wove herself from the thread of night, hair of moonlight, skin of stars. So old. Without beginning or end.
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...
Sometimes, through the window of a car coming the other way, she caught a glimpse if a stranger's face, then it was gone, like a book you open then close at once.
So often it is words or pictures that first tell us what we long for.
She looked inquiringly at Meggie. Do you like Alice in Wonderland? Not particularly, said Meggie, staring at the map. Elinor shook her head at such childish folly and turned back to Dustfinger.
Perhaps the story now goes on beyond the book.
Os livros poderiam ensiná-la tanto sobre este mundo e outros lugares distantes, sobre animais e plantas, sobre estrelas! Podiam ser janelas e portas, asas de papel para ajudá-la a voar para bem longe.
Orpheus. Had the name he had taken ever suited him better? But he would be wilier than the singer whose name he had stolen. He would indeed. He would send another man into the realm of Death in the Fi...
My wife loves written words ... you know, words that stick to parchment and paper like dead flies, and it seems my father felt the same - but I want to hear words! Remember that when you are looking f...
My darling, she said at last, are you sure you don’t mind being a mouse for the rest of your life? I don’t mind at all, I said. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody...
Meggie looked up at the dense thicket of branches. She had never set eyes on a tree like it before. The bark was reddish brown, but as rough as the bark of an oak, and the trunk did not branch until h...
Many [book] even lay flat in the floor open. Their spines upward. Elinor couldn't bear to look! Didn't the monster know that was the way to break a book's neck?
Los libros tienen que pesar porque el mundo entero está encerrado en ellos.
I think we should sometimes read stories where everything’s different from our world, don’t you agree? There’s nothing’s like it for teaching us to wonder why trees are green and not red, and why we h...