She said it out loud, the words distributed into a room that was full of cold air and books. Books everywhere! Each wall was armed with overcrowded yet immaculate shelving. It was barely possible to see paintwork. There were all different styles and sizes of lettering on the spines of the black, the red, the gray, the every-colored books. It was one of the most beautiful things Liesel Meminger had ever seen. With wonder, she smiled. That such a room existed!

You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.

Everything was good. But it was awful, too.

A small fact: You are going to die....does this worry you?

The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

I think, as the writer, you're always going to mourn something [left out of a film]. But you also just want to know there's a good reason for it being left out. On the whole, you want to give something to somebody creative. The worst thing you can do is say, "Here, be creative, but do it like I want you to do it." I was always very mindful of that.

Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.