Elizabeth Wein Quotes
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Must stop. This ink is amazing, it really doesn't smear, even when you cry on it.
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It was a nightmare I could never really define, to have so many people packed around me and not be able to communicate with any of them unless they felt like it.
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Ellen looked around the room with an odd expression, for the first few seconds not taking in the collection spread across the tables, but just taking in the library: the smell of ink and foxy paper and old wood, the green view of the river beyond the leaded casement window propped open just an inch. As if she loved it, but was a little scared to be there.
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These trials aren't about revenge. They're about justice. Don't you want justice, Rose Justice?
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The very term "turning pages" suggests nonstop action. But I am all about character and beautiful writing. I eat that up like popcorn. Whether a book is action-packed or not, all I need are well-written prose and quirky, fabulous characters to keep me going.
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She whispered, 'C'etait la Verite?' Was that Verity? Or perhaps she just meant, Was that the truth? Was it true? Did any of it really happen? Were the last three hours real? 'Yes,' I whispered back. 'Oui. C'etait la verite.
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It is possible there are some things you want so badly that you will change your life to make them happen.
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It's very modern. Very gamine. You look like a jazz singer.
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Careless talk costs lives.
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She gave a low and delighted chuckle. Her eyes were black as a moonless December night and reflected the electric lights like stars.
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Everything I know about passive resistance I learned from Micheline. She always appeared to be doing exactly as she was told, but everything she did took twice as long as it should have.
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Doing the thing you are scared of is much harder than not being afraid of anything. It is easy to be brave. It is not so easy to be scared and do a brave thing anyway.
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I am like a ruined piece of parchment scrawled over and over again with your name, so many times it has become illegible.
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Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.
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Hope—you think of hope as a bright thing, a strong thing, sustaining. But it’s not. It’s the opposite. It’s simply this: lumps of stale bread stuck down your shirt. Stale gray bread eked out with ground fish bones, which you won’t eat because you’re going to give it away, and maybe you’ll get a message through to your friend.
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It's like being in love, discovering your best friend.
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Five years of destruction and mayhem, lives lost everywhere, shortages of food and fuel and clothing - and the insane mind behind it just urges us all on and on to more destruction. And we all keep playing.
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A part of me will always be unflyable, stuck in the climb.
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The soaring mountains rose around her, and the poets’ waters glittered beneath her in the valleys of memory—hosts of golden daffodils, Swallows and Amazons, Peter Rabbit.
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Don't know how I kept going. You just do. You have to, so you do.
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I love the story of a thing. I love a thing for what it means a thousand times more than for what it's worth.
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There’s glory and honour in being chosen. But not much room for free will.
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Here he comes, moving among the enemies all on his own. Do you see? He acts alone, but he is not alone. He has an army behind him, also, my army; and with our lives we will fight to defend him.
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Stars poked through like holes in the cloth of the sky and shed no light on anything.