Rosa Hubermann was sitting on the edge of the bed with her husband's accordion tied to her chest. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She did not move. She didn't ever appear to be breathing.

It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)

All told, she owned fourteen books, but she saw her story as being made up predominantly of ten of them. Of those ten, six were stolen, one showed up at the kitchen table, two were made for her by a hidden Jew, and one was delivered by a soft, yellow-dressed afternoon.

The book thief has struck for the first time – the beginning of an illustrious career.

We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.