You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

Goodbye, Papa, you saved me. You taught me to read. No one can play like you. I'll never drink champagne. No one can play like you." -Liesel

The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

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.

I guess if editing doesn't hurt, you're probably not doing it properly. I find it quite difficult. The hardest part is believing that it's actually working and getting rid of the doubt that always creeps in.

Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.