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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.

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
House
Bricks
Earth
Carried
Book
Boxes
Whole
Heavy
World
Asked
Inside
Says
Books
Packed

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Every German child learns to speak English in school.
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The truth's not pretty of course. No one likes to look it in the face.
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Sometimes, when you're so sad you don't know what to do, it helps to be angry.
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Fire and water, he said, don't really mix. You could say they're incompatible. But when they do love each other, they love passionately.
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Nothing is more terrifying than fearlessness.
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The Fairy's dress rustled as she turned. Human women dressed like flowers, layers of petals around a mortal, rotting core.
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Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but don't come back, ok?
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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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Memories, so sweet and bitter.. they had both nourished and devoured him for so many years. Until a time came when they began to fade, turning faint and blurred, only an ache to be quickly pushed away because it went to your heart. For what was the use of remembering all you had lost?
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I like a composer called Henry Purcell, and I love to listen to Neil Young.
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I just did a picture book called The Wildest Brother on Earth, and you will find both of my children in there.
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Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?
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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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A library book, I imagine, is a happy book.
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Let's run away to Venice, and hide out in an old movie theater. We can dye our hair blonde, so no one will ever find us!
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Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before.
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He flung his arms around her neck, but only once he saw Silvertoungue's back was turned. He never knew with fathers. I'll save him, Meggie! he wispered in her ear. I'll bring Dustfinger back. This story will have a happy ending.I swear!
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You know, it's a funny thing about writers. Most people don't stop to think of books being written by people much like themselves. They think that writers are all dead long ago--they don't expect to meet them in the street or out shopping. They know their stories but not their names, and certainly not their faces. And most writers like it that way.
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But after all, the villains are the salt in the soup of a story.
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Every reader knows about the feeling that characters in books seem more real than real people.
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