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I have two Iceland horses, a very hairy dog called Looney, and a guinea pig.

Cornelia Funke

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Cornelia Funke
Age: 65
Born: 1958
Born: December 10
Author
Illustrator
Screenwriter
Writer
Guinea
Pigs
Horses
Dog
Horse
Called
Two
Hairy
Iceland

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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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What a plague love is!
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Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?
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But after all, the villains are the salt in the soup of a story.
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Every reader knows about the feeling that characters in books seem more real than real people.
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Sometimes, when you're so sad you don't know what to do, it helps to be angry.
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The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages.
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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?
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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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This book taught me, once and for all, how easily you can escape this world with the help of words! You can find friends between the pages of a book, wonderful friends.
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If I was a book, I would like to be a library book, so I would be taken home by all different sorts of kids.
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-You forgot something important! -What? -It's under my sweater! -WHAT?! -Me!
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He wants to be grown-up. How different dreams can be! Nature will soon grant your wish.
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My daughter, Anna, is almost 15, and my son, Ben, is almost 10.
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Words,words filled the night like the fragrance of invisible flowers.
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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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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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Let's run away to Venice, and hide out in an old movie theater. We can dye our hair blonde, so no one will ever find us!
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I always wanted to ride a dragon myself, so I decided to do this for a year in my imagination.
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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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