Quotes from John Boyne

E então o cômodo ficou escuro e de alguma maneira, apesar do caos que se seguiu, Bruno percebeu que ainda estava segurando a mão de Shmuel entre as suas e nada no mundo o teria convencido a soltá-la.

The novel was written by Anshel Bronstein, the boy who had lived in the flat below him as a child. Of course, he remembered, he had wanted to be a writer. It seemed that his ambition had come true.

retractable roof, a pair of black, white and red

A chest out to here and legs that go all the way down to the floor.

said. 'A home is not a building or a street or a city or something so artificial as bricks and mortar. A home is where one's family is, isn't that

wondered to himself. And who decided which people wore the striped pajamas and which people wore the uniforms?

I'd rather bore a hole to the center of the earth with my tongue.

Occasionally, Charles and Maude would host a dinner party where they would come together as Husband and Wife, and on such occasions I would be brought down and passed around from couple to couple like a Fabergé egg they'd purchased from a descendant of the last Russian Tsar.

You are most welcome,' replied Hitler. 'But remember, the boy who wears this uniform must obey our rules and seek nothing more from life than the advancement of our party and our country. That is why we are here, all of us. To make Germany great again.

The moral of the story', he repeated, leaning forward and placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him, 'is that every so often a natural disaster comes along, an act of God, and it blows all the dust away and when it does people can see that whatever's left underneath ain't so pretty. You get it?' Denton

Al mal tiempo, buena cara.»

La experiencia es la madre de la ciencia

Anything is possible but most things are unlikely.

I'm not sure any cause is worth giving your life for

the worls, he would remark to her a few weeks into their acquaintance, is a terrible place and it was our misfortune to have been born into it.

Bruno: Me parece que no puedo dejarlo. Me parece que no quiero.

Do you write yourself?' I asked, and she shook her head. 'No, I wouldn't be able,' she said. 'I don't have the imagination. I'm a reader, pure and simple.

He lifted his pint and took a long gulp and I watched his face grimace a little as he tried to swallow. His eyes closed briefly as he fought the urge to spit it back up. 'Christ, that tastes good,' he said with all the credibility of a Parisian complimenting a meal in Central London. 'I needed that.

What are you playing?" I asked him. "War." "Is that a game?" "It's the best game in the world." "And are you winning?" "I won't know till it's over." "And perhaps not even then.

You don't want to be labelled with a conventional pronoun that has been in common usage since the English tongue was first established,' continued Beverley. 'And so, instead, you'd like to be labelled with an equally conventional pronoun that has been in common usage since the English tongue was first established. Simply the pluralized version. That's it, isn't it?

You were cruel.' 'I was obedient.

Sorry to disappoint you," said Charles. "I had thought about inviting a bunch of seven-year-olds to dinner but then I remembered that tonight was really rather important and our future happiness might depend on the outcome." "So he's not coming?" I said, just to clarify. "No," said Charles. "He's not.

They used to burn books, you know

It starts in the schoolyard, with small boys fighting among each other. In the 1930s, the Reich found a people to hate. Now, twenty years later, it's us who are hunted down. When they discover one of us, they bring us to a courtroom so the world can hear of our crimes but, really, all they want is to shoot us, hang us, kill us in any way they can. We're all just trying to survive.