Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man's gentleness, his thereness. (p.36)

My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.

Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillage - cold and heavy, slippery and gray - but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait. Hello, stars.

He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.

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

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

I'd rather chase the sun than wait for it.