Quotes About Words

The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.

You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

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

She soon says, You're my best friend, Ed. You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

The best word shakers were the ones who understood the true power of words. They were the ones who could climb the highest. One such word shaker was a small, skinny girl. She was renowned as the best word shaker of her region because she knew how powerless a person could be WITHOUT words.

She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.

I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.

There was once a strange, small man. He decided three important details about his life: 1. He would part his hair from the opposite side to everyone else. 2. He would make himself a small, strange mustache. 3. He would one day rule the world. ...Yes, the Fuhrer decided that he would rule the world with words.

The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.

Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out, like the rain. (p. 85)

It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.

When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.

She was battered and beaten up, and not smiling this time. Liesel could see it on her face. Blood leaked from her nose and licked at her lips. Her eyes had blackened. Cuts had opened up and a series of wounds were rising to the surface of her skin. All from the words. From Liesel's words.

She slid a book from the shelf and sat with it on the floor. She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words lttered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be ant of this. What good were the words? The book thief stood and waled carefully to the library door.

The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like clouds, and she would ring them out like the rain.

She gave 'The Dream Carrier' to Max as if words alone could nourish him.

The conversation of bullets.

She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life. Don't punish yourself, she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. - Liesel Meminger

As it turned out, Ilsa Hermann not only gave Liesel Meminger a book that day. She also gave her a reason to spend time in the basement, her favorite place, first with Papa, then Max. She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life. Don't punish yourself, she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

It feels like spoken words, this bridge. I want it but fear it. God, I want so desperately to reach the other side - just like I want the words. I want my words to build bridges strong enough to walk on. I want them to tower over the world so I can stand up on them and walk to the other side.

She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.

Very quickly, very suddenly, words fell through my mind. They landed on the floor of my thoughts, and in there, down there, I started to pick the words up. They were excerpts of truth gathered from inside me.