He left Himmel Street wearing his hangover and a suit.

You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things." Liesel watched him as if he'd gone insane. "How, though?" Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. "Memorize it. Then write it down for him.

Amplified by the still of night, the book opened -- a gust of wind.

It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

The dilemma, of course, is that such people save their most important words for after, when the surrounding humans are unlucky enough to find them.

Have you ever noticed that idiots have a lot of friends? It's just an observation.