The night belongs to beasts of prey, and always has. It's easy to forget that when you're indoors, protected by light and solid walls.
Cornelia FunkeWho are you?' Mo looked at the White Women. Then he looked at Dustfinger's still face. Guess.' The bird ruffled up its golden feathers, and Mo saw that the mark on its breast was blood. You are Death.' Mo felt the word heavy on his tongue. Could any word be heavier?
Cornelia FunkeI always thought it hadn't influenced me very much, but I heard from many people from England that many motives from German fairytales are to be found in my books.
Cornelia FunkeThe tent in which she first met him had smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had thought of it all as a game. She had promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.
Cornelia Funke