I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.

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

He was waving. "Saukerl," she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that's as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.

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.

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

If a guy like you can stand up and do what you did, then maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.

Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.