“Liesel shrugged away entirely from the crowd and entered the tide of Jews, weaving through them till she grabbed hold of his arm with her left hand.His face fell on her.It reached down as she tripped, and the Jew,the nasty Jew, helped her up. It took all of his strength.”

“You could argue that Liesel Meminger has it easy. She did have it easy compared to Max Vandenburg. Certainly, her brother practically died in her arms. Her mother abandoned her.But anything was better than being a Jew.”

“Max," she said. He turned and briefly closed his eyes as the girl continued. There was once a strange, small man,"she said. Her arms were loose but her hands were fists at her side. "But there was a word shaker,too."One of the Jews on his way to Dachau had stopped walking now. He stood absolutely still as the others swerved morosely around him, leaving him completely alone. His eyes staggered, and it was so simple. The words were given across from the girl to the Jew. They climbed on to him.The next time she spoke, the questions stumbled from her mouth. Hot tears fought for room in her eyes as she would not let them out. Better to stand resolute and proud. Let the words do all of it. "Is it really you? the young man asked," she said. " Is it from your cheek that I took the seed.?"Max Vandenburg remained standing.He did not drop to his knees.People and Jews and clouds all stopped. They watched.As he stood, Max looked first at the girl and then stared directly into the sky who was wide and blue and magnificent. There were heavy beams-- planks of son-- falling randomly, wonderfully to the road. Clouds arched their backs to look behind as they started again to move on. "It's such a beautiful day," he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die,like this.Liesel walked at him. She was courageous enought to reach out and hold his bearded face. "Is it really you,Max?"Such a brilliant German day and its attentive crowd.He let his mouth kiss her palm. "Yes, Liesel, it's me," and he held the girl's hand in his face and cried onto her fingers. He cried as the soldiers came and a small collection of insolent Jews stood and watched.”

“Once in while a man or a woman--no, they were not men and women; they were Jews--would find Liesel's face among the crowd. They would meet her with their defeat, and the book thief could do nothing but watch them back in a long, incurable moment before they were gone again. She could only hope they could read the depth of sorrow in her face, to recognize that it was true, and not fleeting.She understood she was utterly worthless to these people. They could not be saved.Then, one human. Hans Hubermann.”

“Liesel continued the examination. She moved around him and shrugged. "Not bad."Not bad!" I look better than just not bad."The shoes let you down. And your face."Rudy placed the lantern on the counter and came toward her in mock-anger, and Liesel had to admit that a nervousness started gripping her. It was with both relief and disappointment that she watched him trip and fall on the disgraced mannequin. On the floor, Rudy laughed.Then he closed his eyes, clenching them hard.Liesel rushed over.She crouched above him.Kis him, Liesel, kiss him.Are you all right, Rudy? Rudy?"I miss him," said the boy, sideways, across the floor.Frohe Weihnachten," Liesel replied. She helped him up, straightening the suit. "Merry Christmas.”

“All told, she owned fourteen books, but she saw her story as being made up predominantly of ten of them. Of those ten, six were stolen, one showed up at the kitchen table, two were made for her by a hidden Jew, and one was delivered by a soft, yellow-dressed afternoon.”

“She was a Jew feeder without a question in the world on that man's first night in Molching. She was an arm reacher, deep into a mattress, to deliver a sketchbook to a teenage girl. (84.25)”