Cornelia Funke Quotes

Dustfinger still clearly remembered the feeling of being in love for the first time. How vulnerable his heart had suddenly been! Such a trembling, quivering thing, happy and miserably unhappy at once.

So what? All writers are lunatics!

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.

Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person standing beside us?

Read – and be curious. And if somebody says to you: 'Things are this way. You can't change it' - don't believe a word.

As Mo had said: writing stories is a kind of magic, too.

Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.

Stories never really end...even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don't end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page.

Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you secruity and friendship and didn't ask for anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly.

And there stood Basta with his foot already on another dead body, smiling. Why not? He had hit his target, and it was the target he had been aiming for all along: Dustfinger’s heart, his stupid heart. It broke in two as he held Farid in his arms, it simply broke in two, although he had taken such good care of it all these years.

Killing is easy," said Mo, "Dying is harder...

The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness - and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly.

This book taught me, once and for all, how easily you can escape this world with the help of words! You can find friends between the pages of a book, wonderful friends.

It's a good idea to have your own books with you in a strange place

It [the book] was spinning a magic spell around her heart, sticky as a spider's web and enchantingly beautiful..

Weren’t all books ultimately related? After all, the same letters filled them, just arranged in a different order. Which meant that, in a certain way, every book was contained in every other!

Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.

If I was a book, I would like to be a library book, so I would be taken home by all different sorts of kids.

I will try to write books until I drop dead.

Meggie thought this first whisper sounded a little different from one book to another, depending on weather or not she already knew the story it was going to tell her.