The Book Thief Quotes - Page 2 | Just Great DataBase

Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?

Five hundred souls. I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the the children I carried in my arms.

You cannot be afraid, Read the book. Smile at it. It's a great book-the greatest book you've ever read.

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

It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.

No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)

They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.

What do you want to kiss me for? I'm filthy.'- LieselSo am I.'- Rudy

I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.

He was waving. "Saukerl," she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that's as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

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.

They were French, they were Jews, and they were you.

She was a girl with a mountain to climb.

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 Leisel 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?"Leisel came out.They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.

There was also a rumor that later in the day, she walked fully clothed into the Amper River and said something very strange.Something about a kiss.Something about a Saumensch.How many times did she have to say goodbye?

It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.

She kept watching the words.

The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.

One day, Liesel.' he said, 'you'll be dying to kiss me.

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.

He stood a few meters from the step and spoke with great conviction, great joy. "Alles ist Scheisse," he announced.All is shit.

The point is, it didn’t really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.

I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty and I wonder how the same can be both.

The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

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.

A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)

How does it feel, anyway?"How does what feel?"When you take one of those books?"At that moment, she chose to keep still. If he wants an answer, he'd have to come back, and he did. "Well?" he asked, but again, it was the boy who replied, before Liesel could even open her mouth.It feels good, doesn't it? To steal something back.

When death captures me,' the boy vowed, 'he will feel my fist on his face.'Personally, I quite like that. Such stupid gallantry.Yes.I like that a lot.

The book thief has struck for the first time – the beginning of an illustrious career.

Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have longed for it so much. he must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

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

Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.

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.

The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun islike a yellow hole. . .

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces.

Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillage - cold and heavy, slippery and gray - but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait.Hello, stars.

So many humans. So many colors.

And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

The day was gray, the color of Europe.

But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?

If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter and bread with only the scent of jam spread on top of it. It was the best time of her life.

...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.

It's much easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.

Competence was attractive.

It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.

The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.