Quotes from Cornelia Funke

Go back and rid the word of that book. Fill it with words before spring comes, or winter will never end for you. And I will take not only your life for the Adderhead's but your daughter's, too, because she helped you bind the book. Do you undersand, Bluejay Why two? asked Mo hoarsely. How can you ask for two lives in return for one?

What's that sticky stuff called? Basta: Duct tape. Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape.

Killing is easy, said Mo, Dying is harder...

But after all, the villains are the salt in the soup of a story.

Who are you?' Mo looked at the White Women. Then he looked at Dustfinger's still face. Guess.' The bird ruffled up its golden feathers, and Mo saw that the mark on its breast was blood. You are Death.' Mo felt the word heavy on his tongue. Could any word be heavier?

Are you really going to catch us and take us back to Esther? We don't belong to her, you know." Embarrassed, Victor stared at his shoes. "Well, children all have to belong to somebody," he muttered. "Do you belong to someone?" "That's different." "Because you're a grown-up?

Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?

Believe, believe, believe

Ist es nicht seltsam, wie viel dicker ein Buch wird, wenn man es mehrmals liest? [...] Als würde jedes Mal etwas zwischen den Seiten kleben bleiben. Gefühle, Gedanken, Geräusche, Gerüche ... Und wenn du dann nach vielen Jahren wieder in dem Buch blätterst, entdeckst du dich selbst darin, etwas jünger, etwas anders, als hätte das Buch dich aufbewahrt, wie eine gepresste Blüte, fremd und vertraut zugleich.

She had found him and was bringing back his thanks. Nor did she forget to mention that he had assured her that she was indeed the most beautiful fairy he had ever set eyes on.

I think we should sometimes read stories where everything's different from our world, don't you agree? There's nothing's like it for teaching us to wonder why trees are green and not red, and why we have five fingers rather than six.' --spoken by The Bluejay, aka Mo the Bookbinder, from 'Inkdeath

We all know what fun it can be to get right into a book and live there for a while, but falling out of a story and suddenly finding yourself in this world doesn't seem to be much fun at all.

Wood always remembers it was once a living tree, alive and breathing in both kingdoms, the one above and the one below.

Let's be off before he gets his great horsey teeth into my poor lines of verse!

When the heart craved something so forcefully, then reason became nothing but helpless observer.

Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.

I remember the feeling. Whenever my father got so absorbed in a book that we might have been in visible I felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting it up.

She pressed her hand against her chest. No heart. So where did the love she felt come from?

Yes, I do enjoy walking at night. The world's more to my liking then, not so loud, not so fast, not so crowded, and a good deal more mysterious.

So it's happened, I kept thinking, you're in the middle of a story exactly as you've always wanted, and it's horrible. Fear tastes quite different when you're not just reading about it, Meggie, and playing hero wasn't half as much fun as I'd expected.

The written word is a powerful thing, you have to be careful with it. - Silvertongue

It's the same in real life: Notorious murderers get off scot-free and live happily all their lives, while good people die - sometimes the very best people. That's the way of the world.

I'm perfectly happy to know the world at secondhand. It's a lot safer.

How loud a heart could beat. Until it took your breath away.