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.
To most people, Hans Hubermann was barely visible. An un-special person. Certainly, his painting skills were excellent. His musical ability was better than average. Somehow, though, and I’m sure you’v...
To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly: Get it done, get it done. So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss,...
Those kids, they would've loved this place, they would've walked and skipped and danced here, all legs and sunny hair. They'd have cartwheeled the lawn, shouting, And don't go lookin' at our knickers,...
They were going to Dachau, to cencentrate.
They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of souls. Was it fate?Misfortune?Is that what glued them down like that?Of course not.Let's not be stupid.It probably had more to do with the hur...
They were French, they were Jews, and they were you.
There were not many people who could say that their education had been paid for with cigarettes.
There was once a strange, small man. But there was a world shaker, too.
There was also an acknowledgment that there was great beauty in what she was currently witnessing, and she chose not to disturb it.
There must be a place in heaven for those who have been where I have been. You might think I don't love you because of what I've done, but I do.
There are hundreds of thoughts per every word spoken, and that's if they're spoken at all.
The words. Why did they have to exist? Without words, the Fuhrer was nothing.
The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn’t be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks...
The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.
The words are spat through the phone line. They’re loud and wet in my ear. Y’ big dickhead. She’s lovely, isn’t she?
The word communist + a large bonfire + a collection of dead letters + the suffering of her mother + the death of her brother = the Führer
The violence interferes. It sticks its fingers into everything and tears it open. It all comes apart, and I loath myself for waiting this long to end it. I despise myself for taking the easy options n...
The thrill of being ignored!
The tears grappled with her face. Rudy, please, wake up, Goddamn it, wale up, I love you. Come on, Rudy, come on, Jesse Owens, don't you know I love you, wake up, wake up, wake up..But nothing cared.....