Quotes About Family

Liesel was exercising the blatant right of every person who's ever belonged to a family. It's all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won't let anyone else do it. That's when you get your back up and show loyalty.

A family of ramshackle tragedy. A comic book kapow of boys and blood and beasts. We were born for relics like these.

Whenever they had a break, to eat or drink, he would play the accordion, and it was this that Liesel remembered best. Each morning, while Papa pushed or dragged the paint cart, Liesel carried the instrument. Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.

Again, Himmel Street was a trail of people, and again, Papa left his accordion. Rosa reminded him to take it, but he refused. 'I didn't take it last time,' he explained, 'and we lived.' War clearly blurred the distinction between logic and superstition.

She especially loved to see him hit the silver, sparkled button—the C major.) The accordion's scratched yet shiny black exterior came back and forth as his arms squeezed the dusty bellows, making it suck in the air and throw it back out. In the kitchen on those mornings, Papa made the accordion live. I guess it makes sense, when you really think about it. How do you tell if something's alive? You check for breathing.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Papa's hands tightened on the splintery wood. I'm an idiot. No, Papa. You're just a man.

Papa was an accordion. But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

Immediately. Her brother was next to her. He whispered for her to stop, but he, too, was dead, and not worth listening to. He died in a train. They buried him in the snow.

the table. "That Saukerl, that filthy pig—you call him Papa, verstehst? Understand?

They were eating in the kitchen. Looking at the spoonfuls of pea soup entering Mama's mouth, she decided to shift her focus to Papa. "There's something

Tradition can be a dirty word, especially around Christmas. Families all over the globe get together and enjoy each other's company for all of a few minutes. For an hour, they endure each other. After that, they just manage to stomach each other.

It's all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won't let anyone else do it.

Highlight: "Arschloch!" Papa yelped. "Liesel, give me some of that snow. A whole bucket!" For a few minutes, they all forgot. There was no more yelling or calling out, but they could not contain the small snatches of laughter. They were only humans, playing in the snow, in a house.

Come on, Max,' she whispered, and even the sound of Mama's arrival at her back did not stop her from silently crying. It didn't stop her from pulling a lump of salt water from her eye and feeding it onto Max Vandenburg's face. Mama took her. Her arms swallowed her. 'I know',she said. She knew.

Earlier, I'd held her papa in one arm and her mama in the other. Each soul was so soft.

The word communist + a large bonfire + a collection of dead letters + the suffering of her mother + the death of her brother = the Führer

MICHAEL HOLTZAPFEL— * * * THE LAST GOODBYE Dear Mama, Can you ever forgive me? I just couldn't stand it any longer. I'm meeting Robert. I don't care what the damn Catholics say about it. There must be a place in heaven for those who have been where I have been. You might think I don't love you because of what I've done, but I do. Your Michael

Stealing is what the army does. Taking your father, and mine.

Suzanne trabaja media jornada. Odia a su padre. Y se odia a sí misma por no plantarle cara. Se lamenta de todo. —Pero adoro a Melinda —dice—. Es el toque de belleza en medio de tanta fealdad.

Max, Hans, and Rosa I cannot account for, but I know that Liesel Meminger was thinking that if the bombs ever landed on Himmel Street, not only did Max have less chance of survival than everyone else, but he would die completely alone.

Papa grinned and pointed at the girl. "Book, sandpaper, pencil," he ordered her, "and accordion!" once she was already gone. Soon, they were on Himmel Street, carrying the words, the music, the washing.

And far away, in the room that stretched like a bridge to a nameless town, her brother, Werner, played in the cemetery snow.

No irse: acto de confianza y amor, a menudo descifrado por los niños.

He wanted to walk out—Lord, how he wanted to (or at least he wanted to want to)—but he knew he wouldn't. It was much the same as the way he left his family in Stuttgart, under a veil of fabricated loyalty. To live. Living was living. The price was guilt and shame.