She was like a lone angel floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness.

She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.

The conversation of bullets.

Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.

I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.

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.

Only in today's sick society can a man be persecuted for reading too many books.