He left Himmel Street wearing his hangover and a suit.

She was a Jew feeder without a question in the world on that man's first night in Molching. She was an arm reacher, deep into a mattress, to deliver a sketchbook to a teenage girl. (84.25)

I like that every page in every book can have a gem on it. It's probably what I love most about writing--that words can be used in a way that's like a child playing in a sandpit, rearranging things, swapping them around. They're the best moments in a day of writing -- when an image appears that you didn't know would be there when you started work in the morning.

I'm just another stupid human.

It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

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