“The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it. ”

“As it turned out, Ilsa Hermann not only gave Liesel Meminger a book that day. She also gave her a reason to spend time in the basement, her favorite place, first with Papa, then Max. She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life."Don't punish yourself", she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.”

“And please," Ilsa Hermann advised her, "don't punish yourself, like you said you would. Don't be like me, Liesel.”

“When Liesel left that day, she said something with great uneasiness. In translation, two giant words were struggled with, carried on her shoulder, and dropped as a bungling pair at Ilsa Hermann's feet. They fell off sideways as the girl veered with them and could no longer sustain their weight. Together, they sat on the floor, large and loud and clumsy. Two giant words...I'm sorry.”

“Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.”

“20 minutes later: a girl on Himmel Street. She looks up. She speaks in whisper. ‘The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds are so soft and sad, and…’ She looks away and crosses her arms. She thinks of her papa going to war and grabs her jacket at each side of her body. ‘And it’s cold, Max. It’s so cold…”

“She gave her a reason to write her own words, to see that words had also brought her to life. "Don't punish yourself," she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.”