An odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very firs...
You really don't understand the first thing about writing...for one thing, early in the morning is the worst possible time. the brain is like a wet sponge at that hour. And for another, real writing i...
You know a great many things in dreams, often despite the evidence of your eyes. You just know them.
You can’t expect the wolf to turn vegetarian because of one Pup.
You crazy! whispered Meggie. You're a total lunatic!But her opinion did not impress Fenoglio in the slightest. So what? All writers are lunatics!
Words were useless. At times, they might sound wonderful, but they let you down the moment you really needed them. You could never find the right words, never, and where would you look for them? The h...
Why do grown-ups think it's easier for children to bear secrets than the truth? Don't they know about the horror stories we imagine to explain the secrets?
Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?
Vielleicht gehören wir alle nicht nur in eine Geschichte.
The heart was a weak, changeable thing, bent on nothing but love, and there could be no more fatal mistake than to make it your master. Reason must be in charge. It comforted you for the heart's fooli...
The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages.
Perhaps there's another, much larger story behind the printed one, a story that changes just as our own world does. And the letters on the page tell us only as much as we'd see peering through a keyho...
Perhaps she was more like him than he'd thought: her home, too, had consisted of paper and printer's ink. She probably felt as lost as he did in the real world.
It was far easier to believe in unhappiness than in happiness.
Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand do...
Her beauty took one’s breath away, like a sudden pain.
For the hundredth time, she closed her eyes so she could see another room in her mind's eye, one with a curtain full of stars, and a mattress surrounded by books that whispered their stories to her at...
Blue as the evening sky, blue as cranesbill flowers, blue as the lips of drowned men and the heart of a blaze burning with too hot a flame. Yes, sometimes it was hot in this world, too. Hot and cold,...
Anything else? Ah, yes – Barbarossa… Esther carried on believing for quite a while that he was the most wonderful child she had ever met – until she caught him stuffing her most precious earrings into...
And that everyone has to find their own path, even brothers.