His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.

She let herself love me for three minutes. Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already know the answer. Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.

It kills me sometimes, how people die.

You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany

...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.

She gave 'The Dream Carrier' to Max as if words alone could nourish him.