The best word shakers were the ones who understood the true power of words. They were the ones who could climb the highest.

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

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.

My arms are killing me. I didn't know words could be so heavy.

When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.