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Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 66
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Life
Lose
Loses
Death
Also
Heart
Much
Make
Sweeter
Love
Taste

More quotes by Cornelia Funke

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Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.
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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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What's the matter princess? Do you know the end of your story?
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What are stories for if we don't learn from them?
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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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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.
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Hope. Nothing is more intoxicating.
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Believe, believe, believe
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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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Every reader knows about the feeling that characters in books seem more real than real people.
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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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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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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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Dustfinger still clearly remembered the feeling of being in love for the first time. How vulnerable his heart had suddenly been! Such a trembling, quivering thing, happy and miserably unhappy at once.
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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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Nothing is more terrifying than fearlessness.
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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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Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?
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Words are immortal - Elinor
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He longed for the deep as she longed for the night sky and for white lilies floating on water -- although she still tried to convince herself that love alone could feed her soul.
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