I love and hate this place because it is full of words.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

It’s all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won’t let anyone else do it. That’s when you get your back up and show loyalty.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.

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.