Words are so heavy.
Why can’t the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn’t care, I finally answer, and I know I’m right. It’s like I’ve been chosen. But chosen for what? I as...
Usually it was like spillage- cold and heavy, slippery and gray- but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes.
Those images were the world, and it stewed in her as she sat with the lovely books and their manicured titles. It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs...
They were virtuosos of alliteration and didn’t know it.
They sat a few meters apart, speaking very rarely, and there was really only the noise of turning pages (…) Where Hans Hubermann and Erik Vandenburg were ultimately united by music, Max and Liesel wer...
There's a multitude of stories (...) that I allow to distract me as I work, just as the colours do. I pick them up in the unluckiest, unlikliest places and I make sure to remember them as I go about m...
There were stars. They burned my eyes.
There was an intense spurt of coughing. Almost an inspired spurt. And soon after – nothing.
The town itself was a hard, distant storyland; you could see it from afar. There was all the straw-like landscape, and marathons of sky. Around it, a wilderness of low scrub and gum trees stood close...
The thrill of being ignored!
The injury of words.Yes, the brutality of words.
The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.
So many people chased after me in that time, calling my name, asking me to take them with me. Then there was the small percentage who called me casually over and whispered with their tightend voices.
She was still clutching the book. She was holding desperately on to the words who had saved her life.
She was battered and beaten up, and not smiling this time. Liesel could see it on her face. Blood leaked from her nose and licked at her lips. Her eyes had blackened. Cuts had opened up and a series o...
She often wished she was pale enough to disappear altogether.
Ser bueno en algo era interesante.
Saumensch, du dreckiges—it’s about time!