I love and hate this place because it is full of words.
One was a book thief. The other stole the sky.
The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.
I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.
I just know that right now, we want to be proud. For once. We want to take the struggle and rise above it. We want to frame it, live it, survive it. We want to put it in our mouths and taste it and never forget it, because it makes us strong.
He was waving. "Saukerl," she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that's as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.