Quotes About Survival

As the density subsided, the rollcall of names limped through the ruptured streets, sometimes ending with an ash-filled embrace, or a knelt-down howl of grief. They accumulated, hour by hour, like sweet and sour dreams waiting to happen. The dangers merged into one. Powder and smoke and the gusty flames. The damaged people. Like the rest of the men in the unit, Hans would need to perfect the art of forgetting.

Finally, in October 1945, a man with swampy eyes, feathers of hair, and a clean-shaven face walked into the shop. He approached the counter. "Is there someone here by the name of Liesel Meminger?" "Yes, she's in the back," said Alex. He was hopeful, but he wanted to be sure. "May I ask who is calling on her?" Liesel came out. They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.

Keeping your nose clean while an entire system broke down around you guaranteed only that you would survive longer, not that you would survive.

the moronic nature of fighting it--of killing yourself to survive.

Don't get caught.' This from a man who'd stolen a Jew.

Así y todo, ella llora en el porche y yo desearía acercarme y abrazarla. Desearía rescatarla y mecerla entre mis brazos. «¿Cómo puede la gente vivir así?» «¿Cómo consiguen sobrevivir?» Tal vez por eso estoy aquí. Porque ya no pueden.

It was a place nobody wanted to stay and look at, but almost everyone did. Shaped like a long, broken arm, the road contained several houses with lacerated windows and bruised walls. The Star of David was painted on their doors. Those houses were almost like lepers. At the very least, they were infected sores on the injured German terrain.

So ein Typ war er. Ruben Wolf. Wenn er am Leben war, war er okay.

She was holding desperately on to the words that had saved her life.

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.

There was no recovery from what had happened. That would take decades; it would take a long life.

and it feels good to be good for something in the aftermath of the snows of Stalingrad

When she made it down to Munich Street, the book thief swerved in and out of the umbrellaed men and women—a rain-cloaked girl who made her way without shame from one garbage can to another.

walk into the living room (which doubled as the Hubermanns' bedroom), pull the accordion

That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable.

Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. "Don't forget your misery …

With the curtains clamped tight, he would sleep on the floor with a cushion beneath his head, as the fire slipped away and turned to ash. In the morning, he would return to the basement. A voiceless human. The Jewish rat, back to his hole.

She was holding desperately on to the words who had saved her life.

the Jews were marching through Molching. They were going to Dachau, to concentrate.

To live. Living was living. The price was guilt, and shame.

concerned. Forget the cold and the loneliness. He was a Jew and if there was one place he was destined to exist, it was a basement or any other such hidden venue of survival.

Don't get caught." This from a man who'd stolen a Jew. From

Papa- the accordionist- and Himmel Street. One could not exist without the other, because for Liesel, both were home.

Visita guiada al sufrimiento: A su izquierda, tal vez a su derecha, incluso puede que al frente, hay una pequeña habitación a oscuras. Allí espera sentado un judío. Apesta. Está famélico. Está asustado. Por favor, intenta no apartar la vista.