Quote

She wanted to return to her dream. Perhaps it was still somewhere there behind her closed eyelids. Perhaps a little of its happiness still clung like gold dust to her lashes. Don't dreams in fairy tales sometimes leave a token behind?

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Dream
Gold
Eyelids
Stills
Dreams
Tokens
Still
Behinds
Lashes
Littles
Return
Closed
Wanted
Behind
Fairy
Little
Perhaps
Tales
Sometimes
Leave
Dust
Clung
Like
Happiness
Somewhere
Token

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The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.
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Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?
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I think we should sometimes read stories where everything's different from our world, don't you agree? There's nothing's like it for teaching us to wonder why trees are green and not red, and why we have five fingers rather than six.' --spoken by The Bluejay, aka Mo the Bookbinder, from 'Inkdeath
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Don't let it worry you, not being able to speak,'Dustfinger had often told her. 'People tend not to listen anyway, right?
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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.
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Words were useless. At times, they might sound wonderful, but they let you down the moment you really needed them. You could never find the right words, never, and where would you look for them? The heart is as silent as a fish, however much the tongue tries to give it a voice.
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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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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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Believe, believe, believe
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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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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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What a plague love is!
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Accursed, blasted, heartless things [books]! Full of empty promises, full of false lures, always making you hungry, never satisfying you, never!
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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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Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?
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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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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.
Cornelia Funke
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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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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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a book always keeps something of its owner between its pages.
Cornelia Funke