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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?

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Even
Couldn
Neck
Way
Open
Flats
Break
Necks
Elinor
Didn
Floor
Spines
Look
Monsters
Upward
Book
Lays
Spine
Looks
Bear
Monster
Many
Bears
Flat

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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?
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Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but don't come back, ok?
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Hope. Nothing is more intoxicating.
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And there stood Basta with his foot already on another dead body, smiling. Why not? He had hit his target, and it was the target he had been aiming for all along: Dustfinger’s heart, his stupid heart. It broke in two as he held Farid in his arms, it simply broke in two, although he had taken such good care of it all these years.
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Reality is a fragile thing.
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Sometimes Dustfinger thought Basta's constant fear of curses and sudden disaster probably arose from his terror of the darkness within himself, which made him assume that the rest of the world must be exactly the same.
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And my father always took me to the library. We were both book addicts.
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I wish I had more time to visit schools.
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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.
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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.
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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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Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.
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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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I love to read aloud.
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She is a real bookworm. I think she lives on print. Her whole house is full of books - looks as if she likes them better than human company.
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Mortimer's face twisted when the Piper pressed his knife against his ribs. Oh yes, he's obviously made the wrong enemies in this story, thought Orpheus. And the wrong friends. But that was high-minded heroes for you. Stupid.
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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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Is there anything in the world better than words on the page? Magic signs, the voices of the dead, building blocks to make wonderful worlds better than this one, comforters, companions in loneliness. Keepers of secrets, speakers of the truth...all those glorious words.
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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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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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