When finally she finished and stood herself up, he put his arm around her, best-buddy style, and they walked on. There was no request for a kiss. Nothing like that. You can love Rudy for that, if you...
One sat painfully now, among the falling chunks of rain, and the other stood next to her, waiting.
She sang a song, but it was so quiet that Liesel could not make it out. The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips.
You can't eat books, sweetheart.
You will be caked in your own body.
She could have shot herself, scratched herself or indulged in other forms of self-mutilation, but she chose what she probably felt was the weakest option-to at least endure the discomfort of the weath...
She could only hope they could read the depth of sorrow in her face, to recognize that it was true, and not fleeting.
Of course I told him about you, Liesel said. She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it
She would later write in the basement.
Ser bueno en algo era interesante.
Nothing affects you, and you affect nothing.
Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
He invited his people toward his own glorious heart, beckoning them with his finest, ugliest words, handpicked from his forests. And the people came. They were all placed on a conveyor belt and run th...
No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.
Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. Ther words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Fuhrer...
On the opposite side, the mannequins stood like witnesses. They were serious and ludicrously stylish. It was hard to shake the feeling that they were watching everything.
With us [...] the enemy isn't over the hill or in any specific direction. It's all around.
She had seen her brother die with one eye open, one still in a dream. She had said goodbye to her mother and imagined her lonely wait for a train back home to oblivion. A woman of wire had laid hersel...
Having conquered not only the work at hand, but the
...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.
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