Perhaps that is the draw of books.” James put his hand over hers. “To show us the way even when we think the path is too dark to see.
There are many voices Hitler would quiet, especially those who are Jewish.” Mr. Evans slid the new book reverently beside the others. “It is the duty of the rest of the world to ensure they will never be silenced.” He tapped a yellow spine with Almansor in gilt at its top. “‘Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as well.’ Heinrich Heine isn’t Jewish, but his ideals go against what Hitler believes.
Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as well.
But it was true how anger could be used to mask hurt, especially when hurt was such a very vulnerable emotion.
It doesn’t matter how you fight, but that you never, never stop.
I think we all hope to be so valiant and pray we never have to find out.
Sometimes the things we hold inside of us need to be let out. No matter where you are or who you’re speaking with.
You can’t save the world, but keep trying in any small way you can.” His mouth lifted at the corners in an almost embarrassed smile. “Such as an old man collecting battered and singed books to keep voices alive.” He set his age-spotted hand on hers, its warmth comforting. “Or finding a story to help a young mother forget her pain.” He removed his hand and straightened. “It doesn’t matter how you fight, but that you never, never stop.
But as much as she loved reading the story, no one had prepared her for the end being so bittersweet. No one told her finishing the book would leave her so bereft. It was as though she’d said goodbye for the last time to a close friend.
Oh, do stop.” Viv waved her hand. “You know full well we were trying to listen in on you. It was quite rude of you both to speak so softly that we couldn’t hear a word.
The cacophony of war overhead came nonstop and with such intensity, it was impossible to differentiate one sound from the other. Without her wits about her, she might have surrendered to the flicker of panic racing in her mind with every whistle, every thundering boom that reverberated in her chest. They only made her read all the louder.
No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted,” he said, quoting Aesop.
What she found within was nothing like the texts she’d read in school that offered dry accounts of maths or broken down sentence structures and word formation. No, this book, when finally given the proper attention it deserved, somehow locked her in its grasp and did not once let go.
There might be loss, and sometimes there may be fear, but there was also courage to face such challenges. For in a world such as theirs, with people of spirit and love, and with so many different tales of strength and victory to inspire, there would always be hope.
Then let me help you.” She led her to a shelf and withdrew Emma, whose humor made it a particular favorite of Grace’s. “This will have you laughing one minute and sighing wistfully the next.
But in a world as damaged and gray as theirs was now, she would take every speck of pleasure where it could be found. And much pleasure was to be had in reading. Grace cherished the adventures she went on through those pages, an escape from exhaustion and bombs and rationing. Deeper still was the profound understanding for mankind as she lived in the minds of the characters.
She smiled through her tears, opened her book and began to read, bringing them all along with her to a world where there were no bombs. There might be loss, and sometimes there may be fear, but there was also courage to face such challenges. For in a world such as theirs, with people of spirit and love, and with so many different tales of strength and victory to inspire, there would always be hope.
Word after word, page after page, she was pulled deeper into a place she had never experienced and walked in the footsteps of a person she’s never been.
We have not to fear anything, except fear itself. Julius Caesar’s quote resounded in.
Aristotle once said that patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
It whispered to her in the silence, a promise only a book can make to a reader, to offer a journey unique to them, tailored to the path that life had led them.