It's A Cruel World, Don't You Think?

Blue As The Evening Sky, Blue As Cranesbill Flowers, Blue As The Lips Of Drowned Men And The Heart Of A Blaze Burning With Too Hot A Flame. Yes, Sometimes It Was Hot In This World, Too. Hot And Cold, Light And Dark, Terrible And Beautiful, It Was Everything All At Once. It Wasn't True That You Felt Nothing In The Land Of Death. You Felt And Heard And Smelled And Saw, But Your Heart Remained Strangely Calm, As If It Were Resting Before The Dance Began Again. Peace. Was That The Word?

The Truth's Not Pretty Of Course. No One Likes To Look It In The Face.

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.

There Are Not So Many Mythical Creatures From Inkheart.

Books Are Like Flypaper, Memories Cling To The Printed Pages Better Than Anything Else.