A nada se pegan tan bien los recuerdos como a las páginas impresas.
A mirror hung between the shelves.Clara stepped in front of it and let her fingers run over the silver roses that covered the frame. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The glass they surrounded...
A child in the woods. A child with an army.
Знаете, я верю, что на страницах книги всегда остаётся что-то от её владельца.
Claimed to be the man who wrote a certain book – what was its name again?Inkheart. Fenoglio rubbed his aching back. Its title is Inkheart because it's about a manwhose wicked heart is as black as ink,...
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 what they say: When people start burning books they'll soon burn human beings.
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.
No one saw firedrake as he made his escape along the canal.
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...
Det var kejsarinnans far som hade stiftat en lag, att föremål, djur och människor med magiska egenskaper var skyldiga att rapporteras. För det var ju inte lätt att regera i en värld där ett guldträd k...
And all was well.
—¿[Matar] es fácil?«Sí —pensó Mo—. Sí, lo es... una vez que en tu pecho late un segundo corazón, frío y de aristas duras como la espada que portas. Unas gotas de odio y furia, unas semanas de miedo y...
She had thought the chewing and digesting were meant literally and wondered, horrified, why Mo had hung on his workshop door the words of someone who vandalized books.
She had found him and was bringing back his thanks. Nor did she forget to mention that he had assured her that she was indeed the most beautiful fairy he had ever set eyes on.
If you can change the fate of a character you read out of a book by adding new words to his story, then maybe you can change everything about it: who goes out, who comes in, how it ends, who's happy,...
One day God felt he ought to give his workshop a spring-clean…. It was amazing what ragged bits and pieces came out from under his workbench as he swept. Beginnings of creatures, bits that looked usef...