Quotes from Cornelia Funke

Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island … I take up my pen in the year of grace 17__, and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn, and the brown old seaman, with the sabre cut, first took up his lodging under our roof. Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island

Die Füchsin<<, sagte er. >>Die Füchsin, ist alles was ich brauche.

Spieler klatschte in die Hände und Sechzehn zersprang in tausend Scherben.

Elinor Loredan: But I just adore everything Persian. Meggie Folchart: You've been to Persia, then? Elinor: Yes, a hundred times. Along with St. Petersburg, Paris, Middle-Earth, distant planets and Shangri-la. And I never had to leave this room. Books are adventure. They contain murder and mayhem and passion. They love anyone who opens them.

Of course, the marvels you hoped to find might not be waiting inside the covers, so then you closed the book, sorry that its promise had not been kept. But Inkheart was not a book of that

Words are immortal – until someone comes along and burns them.

Was auch immer est ist<<, flüsterte er ihr zu, >>du wei?t, wir werden es finden.

In our choices lie our fate.

Every book should begin with attractive endpapers. Preferably in a dark colour: dark read or dark blue, depending on the binding. When you open the book it's like going to the theater. First you see the curtain. Then it's pulled aside and the show begins.

So many questions. Humans asked them about everything, but they usually weren't half as good at finding the answers.

In books I meet the dead as if they were alive, in books I see what is yet to come … All things decay and pass with time … all fame would fall victim to oblivion if God had not given mortal men the book to aid them. Richard de Bury, The Philobiblon

And now the tears did come, hard as Elinor tried to keep them back. Angrily, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think you're doing splendidly, Elinor." Mo was still lying with his face to the wall. "You're both doing splendidly. And I could wring my own neck for dragging you two into all this." "Nonsense. If anyone around here needs his neck wrung it's Capricorn," said Elinor.

It is hard to have secrets one cannot share, or to believe in a truth that others don't want to see.

Yet Bastian knew he couldn't leave without the book. It was clear to him that he had only come to the shop because of this book. It had called him in some mysterious way, because it wanted to be his, because it had somehow always belonged to him. Michael Ende, The Neverending Story

Der Weglose Wald verdiente seinen Namen. Er schien kein Anfang und kein Ende zu haben, wie ein grünes Meer, in dem man ebenso leicht ertrinken konnte wie in den Wellen seines salzig nassen Namensvettern.

Younger? Hmm. Well, if you say so." Elinor glanced down at herself. Her mouse-gray sweater was filthy, and there were three runs in her stockings. "Meggie, that was very kind of you to help me back there in the church," she said, pulling her skirt down over her knees. "My knees were like jelly, I was so scared. I don't know what's come over me.

Some books should be tasted some devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.

The worst fears are always underneath us, hidden, shaking the ground we wish to be firm and safe.

Das Gras war weiß vom Raureif, weiß wie die Frauen, die auf den Schwarzen Prinzen warteten, aber ihr Bann brach, sobald Meggie das Lachen der Kinder hörte. Sie bewarfen sich mit Tannenzapfen und schrien auf, wenn der Marder, nach ihnen sprang. Das Leben schien so viel stärker als der Tod, der Tod so viel stärker als das Leben. Wie Ebbe und Flut...

La paura ha tutto un altro sapore quando la si vive dal vero, Meggie, e giocare all'eroe non era così divertente come mi ero immaginato.

sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice-cream you ate while you were reading it … yes, books are like flypapers. Memories cling to the printed page better than anything else.

Meggie took her books whenever they went away. They were her home when she was somewhere strange – familiar voices, friends that never quarrelled with her, clever, powerful friends, daring and knowledgeable, tried and tested adventurers who had travelled far and wide.

He simply didn't see the world as it really was, that was the explanation - neither the world nor the people he felt so sorry for. Because if you did see them for what they were, what on earth would make you want to fight and even die for them?

I can see why your father has never told you about Capricorn,' said Dustfinger, looking at Mo. 'If I had children I'd rather tell them about nice people too.