It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

Clearly," said Arthur,"you're an idiot- but you're our kind of idiot. Come on.

One was a book thief. The other stole the sky.

Summer came. For the book thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews. When their bodies had finished scouring for gaps in the door, their souls rose up. When their fingernails had scratched at the wood and in some cases were nailed into it by the sheer force of desperation, their spirits came toward me, into my arms, and we climbed out of those shower facilities, onto the roof and up, into eternity's certain breadth. They just kept feeding me. Minute after minute. Shower after shower.

THE LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.

... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.

I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.