Summer came. For the book thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews. When their bodies had finished scouring for gaps in the door, their souls rose up. When their fingernails had scratched at the wood and in some cases were nailed into it by the sheer force of desperation, their spirits came toward me, into my arms, and we climbed out of those shower facilities, onto the roof and up, into eternity's certain breadth. They just kept feeding me. Minute after minute. Shower after shower.

I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.

Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.

Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.