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How fast the ears learned to tell what sounds meant, much faster than it took the eyes to decipher written words.

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Sound
Fast
Words
Ears
Tell
Meant
Much
Took
Learned
Written
Decipher
Eyes
Faster
Eye
Sounds

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She had found him and was bringing back his thanks. Nor did she forget to mention that he had assured her that she was indeed the most beautiful fairy he had ever set eyes on.
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Everyone is small at night.
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She had only to open a door, nothing but a door between the words,just large enough for her and Farid to pass through.
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A library book, I imagine, is a happy book.
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The spoken word is nothing. It hardly lives longer than an insect! Only the written word is eternal. - Balbulus
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Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar.
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Beauty and fear make uneasy companions
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Second, there are so many magical places in books that you cant go to, like Hogwarts and Middle Earth, so I wanted to set a story in a place where children can actually go.
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My wife loves written words ... you know, words that stick to parchment and paper like dead flies, and it seems my father felt the same - but I want to hear words! Remember that when you are looking for the right words: You must ask yourself what they SOUND like! Glowing with passion, dark with sorrow, sweet with love, that's what I want. - Cosimo
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I wish you luck,' she said, kissing him on the cheek. He still had the most beautiful eyes of any boy she'd ever seen. But now her heart beat so much faster for someone else.
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The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal. The ticking of a clock. The groan of a floorboard as he slipped out of his room. All was drowned by its silence. But Jacob loved the night. He felt it on his skin like a promise. Like a cloak woven from freedom and danger.
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When you open a book it's like going to the theater first you see the curtain then it is pulled aside and the show begins.
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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.
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My children were all made from paper and printer's ink.
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Where did the love come from? What was it made of?
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They wouldn't tell Scipio how much of the counterfeit cash was left since, as Riccio put it, 'You're a detective now, after all.
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What are stories for if we don't learn from them?
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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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There are not so many mythical creatures from Inkheart.
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Why would we ever want to go back when your world is so accommodating with your telephones and your guns and what's that sticky stuff called ...duct tape.
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