Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.

A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.

… it was raining on Himmel Street when the world ended for Liesel Meminger. The sky was dripping. Like a tap that a child has tried its hardest to turn off but hasn’t quite managed.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.

Please, trust me, I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.

I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.

Since your mindset can make you or break you, how is it going? Is it representing you well or does it need a complete overhaul?

My father only hit me once, but he used a Volvo.

Rat is a lot like duck, except with a wonderfully nutty flavor.

The EU should have consolidated its different presences and purposes in Kosovo earlier.

The intellect of the generality of women serves more to fortify their folly than their reason.

I'm not for real revolutions, because they always bring you the opposite of what you want. You very seldom get what you want if you have a violent revolution.

The challenge is not so much to change the sound. The challenge is to connect and to create something special.

The weakness of ourselves and of our reason makes us see flaws in beauties by making us consider everything piece by piece.

It was as though, in one moment, he had become a stranger. And I a stranger to myself.

No work of art is ever completed, it is only abandoned.