And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.

Finally, in October 1945, a man with swampy eyes, feathers of hair, and a clean-shaven face walked into the shop. He approached the counter. "Is there someone here by the name of Leisel Meminger?" "Yes, she's in the back," said Alex. He was hopeful, but he wanted to be sure. "May I ask who is calling on her?" Leisel came out. They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.

The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you.

Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man's gentleness, his thereness. (p.36)

Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.

For a moment, I panic. It's that feeling of falling when you know without question, that you've lost control of your car, or made a mistake that's beyond repair. 'What do I do now?' I ask desperately. 'Tell me! What do I do now?' He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, 'Keep living, Ed... It's only the pages that stop here.