The city buildings in the distance are holding up the sky, it seems.

She gave 'The Dream Carrier' to Max as if words alone could nourish him.

I traveled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity.

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.

I thought what if death is more like thinking, well, war is like the boss at your shoulder, constantly wanting more, wanting more, wanting more, and then that gave me the idea that Death is weary, he's fatigued, and he's haunted by what he sees humans do to each other because he's on hand for all of our great miseries.

The dilemma, of course, is that such people save their most important words for after, when the surrounding humans are unlucky enough to find them.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.