“All around the castle, a briary hedge began to grow, with thorns as sharp as barbs.”

“A mist still lay all about the walls and floors, hovering like a last breath on the lips of all the sleepers. As he walked through the castle, he marveled at how many lay asleep: the good people, the not-so-good, the young people and the not-so-young, and not one of them stirring. Not one.”

“A book is a wonderful present. Though it may grow worn, it will never grow old.”

“All around me, grown-up voices called out, "Amen!" as if the word was a hall pass into Heaven.”

“...For it began to occur to him that one way to become private was to respect another's privacy.”

“Passover isn't about eating, Hannah," her mother began at last, sighing and pushing her fingers through her silver-streaked hair. "You could have fooled me," Hannah muttered.”

“Fiction cannot recite the numbing numbers, but it can be that witness, that memory. A storyteller can attempt to tell the human tale, can make a galaxy out of the chaos, can point to the fact that some people survived even as most people died. And can remind us that the swallows still sing around the smokestacks.”