Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.

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

A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH I do not carry a sickle or scythe. I only wear a hooded black robe when it's cold. And I don't have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.

But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?

Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.

You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany

I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.