Let’s run away to Venice, and hide out in an old movie theater. We can dye our hair blonde, so no one will ever find us!
Why do grown-ups think it’s easier for children to bear secrets than the truth? Don’t they know about the horror stories we imagine to explain the secrets?
Perhaps the story in the book is just the lid on a pan: It always stays the same, but underneath there’s a whole world that goes on – developing and changing like our own world.
Sometimes Dustfinger thought Basta’s constant fear of curses and sudden disaster probably arose from his terror of the darkness within himself, which made him assume that the rest of the world must be exactly the same.
Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?
So it’s happened, I kept thinking, you’re in the middle of a story exactly as you’ve always wanted, and it’s horrible. Fear tastes quite different when you’re not just reading about it, Meggie, and playing hero wasn’t half as much fun as I’d expected.
We all know what fun it can be to get right into a book and live there for a while, but falling out of a story and suddenly finding yourself in this world doesn’t seem to be much fun at all.
Children, they’re the same everywhere. Greedy little creatures but the best listeners in the world – any world. The very best of all.
Everyone is small at night.
Read – and be curious. And if somebody says to you: ‘Things are this way. You can’t change it’ – don’t believe a word.
Down there the nights are bright and nobody believes in the Devil.
Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t come back, ok?
What’s that sticky stuff called? Basta: Duct tape. Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape.
I have two Iceland horses, a very hairy dog called Looney, and a guinea pig.
Words were useless. At times, they might sound wonderful, but they let you down the moment you really needed them. You could never find the right words, never, and where would you look for them? The heart is as silent as a fish, however much the tongue tries to give it a voice.
Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper.
Didn’t books say that too: that there is always price to pay for happiness?
She had found him and was bringing back his thanks. Nor did she forget to mention that he had assured her that she was indeed the most beautiful fairy he had ever set eyes on.
And my father always took me to the library. We were both book addicts.
Every German child learns to speak English in school.