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That bloody bastard! That thrice accursed son of a bitch!

Cornelia Funke
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It was a chilly morning after the night's rain, and the sun hung in the sky like a pale coin lost by someone high up in the clouds.
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She felt as if the grave stones were whispering those names to her as she walked past... Those stones that bore no names seemed like closed mouths, sad mouths that forgotten how to speak. But perhaps the dead didn't mind what their names had once been?
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When the heart craved something so forcefully, then reason became nothing but helpless observer.
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The night belongs to beasts of prey, and always has. It's easy to forget that when you're indoors, protected by light and solid walls.
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Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination.
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It [the book] was spinning a magic spell around her heart, sticky as a spider's web and enchantingly beautiful..
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Read – and be curious. And if somebody says to you: 'Things are this way. You can't change it' - don't believe a word.
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Women were different, no doubt about it. Men broke so much more quickly. Grief didn't break women. Instead it wore them down, it hollowed them out very slowly.
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