… it was raining on Himmel Street when the world ended for Liesel Meminger. The sky was dripping. Like a tap that a child has tried its hardest to turn off but hasn’t quite managed.

Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.

Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?

She closes the door completely, and I crouch there. I allow myself to fall forward and rest my head on the door frame. My breath bleeds. My heartbeat drowns my ears.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

I find writing extremely difficult. I usually have to drag myself to my desk, mainly because I doubt myself. And it's getting harder because I want to improve with every book.

in the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears.