It’s a small story really, about, among other things: * A girl * Some words * An accordionist * Some fanatical Germans * A Jewish fist fighter * And quite a lot of thievery

The bombs were coming-and so was I.

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.

As far as this categorization of books, the way I see it is there are really a hundred-odd categories of books plus one, and on the top shelf at home, I've got the books I love, my favorite books, and that's the type of book that I want to write.

We expressed love for this dog by ... knowing without showing that we cared for him.