Quotes About Author

Immensely clever story, and quite creepy, in a delightfully scary way.

You're writing like a freshman.' And he replied- I remember this very distinctly: 'We always look for doctors but sometimes we're lucky to find a frosh.

Rumor was—or so Lude confided; I've always loved the way Lude could 'confide' a rumor—

Some critics believe the house's mutations reflect the psychology of anyone who enters it.

I walked in, loosened his soul, and carried it gently away.

A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT Please, be calm, despite that previous threat. I am all bluster - I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.

The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.

It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them

He, as much as anyone, knows who and why and what we are: A family of ramshackle tragedy. A comic book kapow of boys and blood and beasts.

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

Cuando empezó a escribir su historia, se preguntó por el momento exacto en que los libros y las palabras no sólo comenzaban a tener algún significado, sino que lo significaban todo.

In the written words of the book thief herself, the journey continued like everything had happened.

I just want to write someone's favorite book.

Is it from your cheek that I took the seed?

He'd probably say that he was exercising his God-given right to stupidity.

A fact regarding Max Vandenburg He would search the faces on Munich street for a book-thieving girl.

A SMALL SUGGESTION*** Or maybe there was a woman on Grande Strasse who now kept her library window open for another reason - but that's just be being cynical, or hopeful. Or both.

llevó el Führer? La pregunta los sorprendió

A NICE THOUGHT One was a book thief. The other stole the sky.

Clearly , you're an idiot but you're our kind of idiot

I am all bluster— I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result. -Death

A choir of heavy-set Helgas pointed him out, and Thomas Mamer came storming towards the dirty fruit.

When she came to write her story, she would wonder exactly when the books and the words stated not just to mean something, but everything.

Mama's eyes were like pale blue cutouts, pasted to her face.