I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.

He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.

He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.

It's not the place, I think. It's the people. We'd have all been the same anywhere else.

He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.

When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.

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.