Is it from your cheek that I took the seed?
In the written words of the book thief herself, the journey continued like everything had happened.
If you feel like it, come with me. I will tell you a story. I'll show you something.
I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty and I wonder how the same can be both.
I urge you - don't be afraid. I'm nothing if not fair
I saw him hip-deep in some icy water, chasing a book, and I saw a boy lying in bed, imagining how a kiss would taste from his glorious next-door neighbor.
I like that every page in every book can have a gem on it. It's probably what I love most about writing—that words can be used in a way that's like a child playing in a sandpit, rearranging things, sw...
I know what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story.
I have hated the words andI have loved them,and I hope I have made them right.
I did it because you are the epitome of ordinariness, Ed. And if a guy like you can stand up and do what you did for all those people, well, maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what the...
I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.
He's the boy who refuses to fear the opposite sex, purely because everyone else embraces that particular fear, and he's the type who is unafraid to make a decision.
He remained shrouded in his uniform as the graying light arm-wrestled the sky.
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...
HERE IS A SMALL FACTYou are going to die.The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings andends, but to me...
God never says anything. You think you’re the only one he never answers?
Feuer soll'n's brunzen fur einen Monat!' she heard her call out. Translation: 'They should all piss fire for a month!
Die Noten wurden in ihrem Atem geboren und starben auf ihren Lippen.
Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
Another ten minutes, the gates of thievery would open just a crack, and Lisa Meminger would widen them a little further and squeeze through.