“. . .only the victims and survivors can truly comprehend the awfulness of that time and place; the rest of us live on the other side of the fence, staring through from our own comfortable place, trying in our own clumsy ways to make sense of it all.”

“Very slowly he turned his head back to look at Shmuel, who wasn't crying anymore, merely staring at the floor and looking as if he was trying to convince his soul not to live inside his tiny body anymore, but to slip away and sail to the door and rise up into the sky, gliding through the clouds until it was very far away.'' -The Boy in the Striped Pajamas”

“You fought in the Great War?” a journalist from The Guardian asked me in a long interview to coincide with the presentation of the prize. “I didn’t think it was all that great.” I pointed out. “In fact, if memory serves, it was bloody awful.” “Yes, of course,” said the journalist, laughing uncomfortably. “Only you’ve never written about it, have you?” “Haven’t I?” “Not explicitly, at least.” He said, his face taking on an expression of panic, as if he had suddenly realized that he might have forgotten some major work along the way. “I suppose it depends on one’s definition of explicit,” I replied. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ve written about it any number of times. On the surface, occasionally. A little buried, at other times. But it’s been there, hasn’t it? Wouldn’t you agree? Or do I delude myself?” “No, of course not. I only meant—“ “Unless I’ve failed utterly in my work, that is. Perhaps I haven’t made my intentions clear at all. Perhaps my entire writing career has been a busted flush.” “No, Mr. Sadler, of course not. I think you misunderstood me. It’s clear that the Great War plays a significant part in your—“ At eighty-one, one has to find one’s fun where one can.”

“It's so unfair, I don't see whij I have to be stuck over here on this side of the fence where there's no one to talk to and no one to play with and you get to have dozens of friends are probably playing for hours every day, I'll have to speak to Father about it.”

“We're accustomed to the older generation looking down on the younger and telling them that they know nothing of the world. But things are rather out of kilter now, aren't they? It is your generation who understands the inhumanity of man, not ours. It's boys like you who have to live with what you have seen and what you have done. You've become the generation of response. While your elders can only look in your direction and wonder.”

“Bruno: Why do you wear pajamas all day?Shmuel: The soldiers. They took all our clothes away.Bruno: My dad's a soldier, but not the sort that takes people's clothes away. ”

“Do you see the irony at all, Tristan?’ I stare at him and shake my head. He seems determined not to speak again until I do. ‘What irony?’ I ask eventually, the words tumbling out in a hurried heap. ‘That I am to be shot as a coward while you get to live as one.”