“That's the sort of thing I'll never know, or comprehend--what humans are capable of.”

“Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.”

“You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. find yourself a mirror while I continue.”

“That's typically what writers do; we just sit around complaining most of the time. And the better things are going, the more they complain.”

“I suppose he'll die soon. I'm expecting it, like you do for a dog that's seventeen. There's no way to know how I'll react. He'll have faced his own placid death and slipped without a sound inside himself. Mostly, I imagine I'll crouch there at the door, fall onto him, and cry hard into the stench of his fur. I'll wait for him to wake up, but he won't. I'll bury him. I'll carry him outside, feeling his warmth turn to cold as the horizon frays and falls down in my backyard. For now, though, he's okay. I can see him breathing. He just smells like he's dead.”

“If a guy like you can stand up and do what you did, then maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of. ”

“I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race-that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.”