The scrawled words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept, hand to shoulder. They breathed. German and Jewish lungs.
He’s most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.
Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.
Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.
The dilemma, of course, is that such people save their most important words for after, when the surrounding humans are unlucky enough to find them.
Every time you find something that doesn’t work, you’re a step closer to what does work.
Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
I think ‘The Lord Of The Rings’ is the mother of all cult books, because you can be in that cult and not even know you’re in it.
I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.
I’m not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I’ve finished.
I’m not one of these ‘the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me’ kind of writers. Wish it was like that.
I find writing extremely difficult. I usually have to drag myself to my desk, mainly because I doubt myself. And it’s getting harder because I want to improve with every book.
I had many boxing matches with my brother in the backyard when we were younger, and I guess while other people abhor boxing for its brutality, I also have to admire anyone who climbs into the ring to face up to what could be the ultimate defeat.
You don’t always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany.
I’m not the messenger at all. I’m the message.
The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.
My arms are killing me. I didn’t know words could be so heavy.
I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
Death waits for no man – and if he does, he doesn’t usually wait for very long.
You can’t eat books, sweetheart.