In a way, it was destiny.
If I die anytime soon, you make sure they bury me right.
I walked home, seeing all my doubt from the other side. Have you ever seen that? Like when you go on holiday. On the way back, everything is the same but it looks a little different than it did on the...
I guess when someone tells you something they they usually guard, you feel privileged, not because you know something no-one else knows, but because you feel chosen. You feel like that person wants he...
I don't leave a note.There's nothing else to do. At first, I'd wanted to write Merry Christmas on the box somewhere, but I decide against it. This isn't about words.It's about glowing lights and small...
Humans have a talent for escalation.-Death
Competence was attractive.
A veces pienso que mi padre es un acordeón porque oigo sus notas cuando me mira y sonríe y respira.
A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR I am haunted by humans.
Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out, like the rain. (p. 85)
The world did not deserve such a river.
The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.
The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?
The conversation of bullets.
Si lance was not quiet and calm, and it was not peace.
She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.
She kept watching the words.
Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.
Never leave anything out to dry as the sun comes up for the new year.
Mama’s eyes were like pale blue cutouts, pasted to her face.