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I remember the feeling. Whenever my father got so absorbed in a book that we might have been in visible I felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting it up.

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Remember
Visible
Might
Whenever
Book
Cutting
Like
Taking
Feeling
Scissors
Father
Absorbed
Felt
Pair
Feelings
Pairs

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I have two Iceland horses, a very hairy dog called Looney, and a guinea pig.
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When it came to hiding, even Gwin had nothing to teach Dustfinger. A strange sense of curiosity had always driven him to explore the hidden, forgotten corners of this and any other place, and all that knowledge had now come in useful.
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Let's be off before he gets his great horsey teeth into my poor lines of verse!
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Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.
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My daughter, Anna, is almost 15, and my son, Ben, is almost 10.
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-You forgot something important! -What? -It's under my sweater! -WHAT?! -Me!
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Ten minutes can be a long time when you're waiting with a beating heart for something you don't understand, something you don't really want to know.
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The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.
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Meggie Folchart: Having writer's block? Maybe I can help. Fenoglio: Oh yes, that's right. You want to be a writer, don't you? Meggie Folchart: You say that as if it's a bad thing. Fenoglio: Oh no, it's just a lonely thing. Sometimes the world you create on the page seems more friendly and alive than the world you actually live in.
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We all know what fun it can be to get right into a book and live there for a while, but falling out of a story and suddenly finding yourself in this world doesn't seem to be much fun at all.
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I like a composer called Henry Purcell, and I love to listen to Neil Young.
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Accursed, blasted, heartless things [books]! Full of empty promises, full of false lures, always making you hungry, never satisfying you, never!
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a book always keeps something of its owner between its pages.
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Quite suddenly Meggie felt fear rise in her like black brackish water, she felt lost, terribly lost, she felt it in every part of her. She didn't belong here! What had she done?
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Many [book] even lay flat in the floor open. Their spines upward. Elinor couldn't bear to look! Didn't the monster know that was the way to break a book's neck?
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What on earth have you packed in here? Bricks? asked Mo as he carried Meggie's book-box out of the house. You're the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world's inside them, said Meggie.
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So it's happened, I kept thinking, you're in the middle of a story exactly as you've always wanted, and it's horrible. Fear tastes quite different when you're not just reading about it, Meggie, and playing hero wasn't half as much fun as I'd expected.
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She wanted to return to her dream. Perhaps it was still somewhere there behind her closed eyelids. Perhaps a little of its happiness still clung like gold dust to her lashes. Don't dreams in fairy tales sometimes leave a token behind?
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What are stories for if we don't learn from them?
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