You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things." Liesel watched him as if he'd gone insane. "How, though?" Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. "Memorize it. Then write it down fo...
I say His name in a futile attempt to understand. "But it's not your job to understand." That's me who answers. God never says anything. Tou think you're the only one he never answers?
It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.
Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.
Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
When I picked him up originally, the boy's spirit was soft and cold, like ice-cream. He started melting in my arms. Then warming up completely. Healing.
Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
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.
He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
She took a step and didn't want to take any more, but she did.
Son, you can't go around painting yourself black, you hear?" "Why not, Papa?" "Because they'll take you away." "Why?" "Because you shouldn't want to be like black people or Jewish people or anyone who is...not us." "Who are Jewish people?" "You know ...
sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.
I actually feel quite self-indulgent at the moment, telling you all about me, me, me. (...) On the other hand, you're a human -you should understand self obsession.
I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair and surprise.
I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what couldI tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarel...
So much good, so much evil. Just add water.
In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.
You can't eat books, sweetheart.
