It’s a lot easier, she realised, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.
It's the person, Ma, not the place. If you left here, you'd have been the same anywhere else.'(...)'If I ever leave this place' - I swallow - 'I'll make sure I'm better here first.
It's such a beautiful day, he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die, like this.Liesel walked at him. She was courageous enought to reach out and hold his beard...
It's such a beautiful day, he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die, like this.Liesel walked at him. She was courageous enough to reach out and hold his bearde...
It's no time to be half watching, turning around, or checking the stove - because when the book thief stole her second book, not only were there many factors involved in her hunger to do so, but the a...
It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.
It's impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it.
It's impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it. Usually, we walk around constantly believing ourselves. I'm okay, we say. I'm alright. But sometimes the truth arrives on...
It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
It was then that he also took the opportunity to say he was sorry that the Hubermann's son had not come home, In response, Papa told him that such things were out of their control. After all, he said,...
It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way. Papa
It was a year for the ages, like 79, like 1346, to name just a few. Forget the scythe, Goddamn it, I needed a broom or a mop. And I needed a vacation.
It kind of depressed me to think a human could be so lonely that she would comfort herself with the company of appliances that whistle, and sit alone to eat.
It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words.You bastards, she thought.You lovely bastards.Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let...
In the tree shadows, Liesel watched the boy. How things had changed, from fruit stealer to bread giver. His blond hair, although darkening, was like a candle. She heard his stomach growl - and he was...
In the shell-shocked kitchen, somewhere near the stove, there's an image of a lonely, overworked typewriter. It sits in a distant, near-empty room. Its keys are faded and a blank sheet waits patiently...
In mid-February, when she turned ten, Liesel was given a used doll that had a missing leg and yellow hair. It was the best we could do, Papa apologized. What are you talking about? She’s lucky to have...
In bed, she read with Papa, who could tell something was wrong. It was the first time in a month that he’d come in and sat with her, and she was comforted, if only slightly. Somehow, Hans Hubermann al...
If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.
If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive.