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Everyone is small at night.

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Small
Everyone
Night

More quotes by Cornelia Funke

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You know a great many things in dreams, often despite the evidence of your eyes. You just know them.
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.
Cornelia Funke
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What are stories for if we don't learn from them?
Cornelia Funke
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Are you really going to catch us and take us back to Esther? We don’t belong to her, you know.” Embarrassed, Victor stared at his shoes. “Well, children all have to belong to somebody,” he muttered. “Do you belong to someone?” “That’s different.” “Because you’re a grown-up?
Cornelia Funke
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What a plague love is!
Cornelia Funke
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The heart was a weak, changeable thing, bent on nothing but love, and there could be no more fatal mistake than to make it your master. Reason must be in charge. It comforted you for the heart's foolishness, it sang mocking songs about love, derided it as a whim of nature, transient as flowers. So why did she still keep following her heart?
Cornelia Funke
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And my father always took me to the library. We were both book addicts.
Cornelia Funke
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Words are immortal - Elinor
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth. His skin was wet with rain. When she didn't pull away, he took her face between his hands and kissed her again, on her forehead, on her nose, on her mouth once more. You will come, won't you? Promisse! he whispered.
Cornelia Funke
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Life was more difficult in Inkheart, yet it seemed to Meggie that with every new day Fenoglio's story was spinning a magic spell around her heart, sticky as a spider's web and enchantingly beautiful.
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?
Cornelia Funke
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Every book should begin with attractive endpapers. Preferably in a dark colour: dark red or dark blue, depending on the binding. When you open the book it's like going to the theatre. First you see the curtain. Then it's pulled aside and the show begins.
Cornelia Funke
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What was a slap for ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world?
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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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?
Cornelia Funke
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Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but don't come back, ok?
Cornelia Funke