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

When finally she finished and stood herself up, he put his arm around her, best-buddy style, and they walked on. There was no request for a kiss. Nothing like that. You can love Rudy for that, if you like.

I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they're children.

I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.