If you ever write a book, I can only give you one piece of advice. Don't let your parents get involved.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.

We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.

People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they're children.

Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.

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.

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