No one saw firedrake as he made his escape along the canal.
Every book should begin with attractive endpapers,′ he had once told Meggie. ‘Preferably in a dark color: dark red or dark blue depending on the binding. When you open the book it’s like going to the theater. First you see the curtain. Then it’s pulled aside and the show begins.
Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn’t ask for anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom and consolation against death. Who had said that? someone else who loved books.
Orpheus. Had the name he had taken ever suited him better? But he would be wilier than the singer whose name he had stolen. He would indeed. He would send another man into the realm of Death in the Fire-Dancer’s place-and he’d make sure that he didn’t come back.
The written word is a powerful thing, you have to be careful with it. – Silvertongue.
Tapi suatu saat nanti dia mungkin akan semiskin tikus karena membelanjakan semua uangnya untuk membeli buku. Aku takut dia juga tak akan ragu menjual jiwanya jika ada iblis yang bisa memberikan buku yang diinginkannya.
For Her Ugliness loved stories full of darkness. She didn’t want to be told tales of good fortune and beauty, she liked to hear about death, ugly things, secrets heavy with tears. She wanted her very own world, and it had never heard of beauty and good fortune.
Nichts war grausamer als ein Herz aus Fleisch und Blut, weil es wusste, was Schmerzen bereitet.
You’re the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world’s inside of them,” said Meggie...
I libri amavano tutti coloro che li aprivano, offrivano protezione e amicizia senza pretendere nulla in cambio. Non ti abbandonavano mai, nemmeno quando li maltrattavi.
I libri la rincuoravano quando era triste e scacciavano la noia mentre Mo tagliava, rilegava, incollava pagine ormai logore, rese fragili da anni e anni d’uso sotto le innumerevoli dita che le avevano sfogliate.
If you’re going to start tonight there’s no time to waste. Certainly not enough time to finish your quarrel with this dim-witted mushroom-muncher.
Oh, pestiferous parasols!” grumbled Sorrel.
He pressed his fist to where his heart had once beaten, and I did the same. I’m sure I looked like a total idiot, but I think we all do when we’re really happy. Except for Longspee. He just looked fabulous being happy.
Perhaps she was more like him than he’d thought: her home, too, had consisted of paper and printer’s ink. She probably felt as lost as he did in the real world.
Well what does it matter,′ he muttered when he was out in the corridor. ‘Who wants to know the end of a story in advance?
You know what they say: When people start burning books they’ll soon burn human beings.
Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.
A library book, I imagine, is a happy book.
The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages.