A small but noteworthy note. I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me.

He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.

I had many boxing matches with my brother in the backyard when we were younger, and I guess while other people abhor boxing for its brutality, I also have to admire anyone who climbs into the ring to face up to what could be the ultimate defeat.

Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.

How'd it feel?" Rube asked himself. "I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.