Cornelia Funke Quotes & Sayings

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. — Cornelia Funke

Are you really going to catch us and take us back to Esther? We don't belong to her, you know."
Embarrassed, Victor stared at his shoes. "Well, children all have to belong to somebody," he muttered.
"Do you belong to someone?"
"That's different."
"Because you're a grown-up? — Cornelia Funke

How clear one's own desires become once they are made impossible. — Cornelia Funke

Fear was like a beast that only grew fiercer when one gave in to it. — Cornelia Funke

What a plague love is! — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

Perhaps because this time not fear but love made him read. — Cornelia Funke

And my father always took me to the library. We were both book addicts. — Cornelia Funke

I just did a picture book called The Wildest Brother on Earth, and you will find both of my children in there. — Cornelia Funke

-You forgot something important! -What? -It's under my sweater! -WHAT?! -Me! — Cornelia Funke

Power. Intoxicating. Like a fine wine. — Cornelia Funke

He still looked so sad. Not a sign of the laughter that once used to be as much a part of his face as his black eyes. The smile he gave her now was only a sad shadow of it. — Cornelia Funke

Meggie looked up at the dense thicket of branches. She had never set eyes on a tree like it before. The bark was reddish brown, but as rough as the bark of an oak, and the trunk did not branch until high up in the tree, although it had so many bulges that you could find footholds and handholds everywhere. In some places huge tree fungi formed platforms. Hollows gaped in the towering trunk, and crevices full of feathers showed that human beings were not the only creatures to have nested in this tree. — Cornelia Funke

You'd like him back, too, wouldn't you?"
It was difficult for her to turn her eyes away from Farid's face. "He'll never come back," she whispered, and look at Dustfinger. She didn't have the strength to speak any louder. All her strength was gone, as if Farid had taken it away with him. He had taken everything away from him. — Cornelia Funke

The sea always filled her with longing, though for what she was never sure. — Cornelia Funke

Love makes cowards of us all. — Cornelia Funke

Thats beautiful! Sad and beautiful, murmured Meggie. Why were sad stories often so beautiful? It was different in real life. — Cornelia Funke

Quite suddenly Meggie felt fear rise in her like black brackish water, she felt lost, terribly lost, she felt it in every part of her. She didn't belong here! What had she done? — Cornelia Funke

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! — Cornelia Funke

It was a page he had Found in the handbook Of heartbreak. Wallace Stevens, "Madame la Fleurie," Collected Poems I — Cornelia Funke

She had thought the chewing and digesting were meant literally and wondered, horrified, why Mo had hung on his workshop door the words of someone who vandalized books. — Cornelia Funke

It was much easier for him now that he was smaller to negotiate his way through his crammed shop but he still tried to swagger past the shelves like he used to in the past. The attempt looked so strange that Scipio started to mimic him behind his back. "What's the silly giggling about?" Barbarossa asked when Prosper and Renzo bust out laughing. — Cornelia Funke

Words are immortal - Elinor — Cornelia Funke

Let's be off before he gets his great horsey teeth into my poor lines of verse! — Cornelia Funke

They were her home when she was somewhere strange. They were familiar voices, friends that never quarreled with her, clever, powerful friends - daring and knowledgable, tried and tested adventurers who had traveled far and wide. Her books cheered her up when she was sad and kept her from being bored while Mo cut leather and fabric to the right size and re-stitched old pages that over countless years had grown fragile from the many fingers leafing through them. — Cornelia Funke

Women were different, no doubt about it. Men broke so much more quickly. Grief didn't break women. Instead it wore them down, it hollowed them out very slowly. — Cornelia Funke

They are shooting The Thief Lord in Venice at the moment. — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

I know you all think I'm a magician, but I'm not. The magic comes out of the books
themselves, and I have no more idea than you or any of your men how it works. — Cornelia Funke

Everyone living around this lake thinks I'm crazy, and if we go back to the police with this story, then the news that Elinor Loredan has finally flipped will be all over the place. Which just goes to show that a passion for books is extremely unhealthy. — Cornelia Funke

I prefer a story that has the good sense to stay on the page where it belongs.
- Elinor — Cornelia Funke

Oh yes, he was an idiot. He'd always been frightened by how much he needed her. And now it was too late. — Cornelia Funke

A mirror hung between the shelves.
Clara stepped in front of it and let her fingers run over the silver roses that covered the frame. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The glass they surrounded was dark, as if the night had spilled onto it. It was misted up, and right where she saw the reflection of her face was the imprint of a hand. — Cornelia Funke

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

I love to read, I love to watch movies, and I love to be with my children. — Cornelia Funke

You humans love mirrors. You have to constantly make sure you still have the same face. Nothing scares you more than if someone changes it. — Cornelia Funke

Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before. — Cornelia Funke

And that everyone has to find their own path, even brothers. — Cornelia Funke

So it's happened, I kept thinking, you're in the middle of a story exactly as you've always wanted, and it's horrible. Fear tastes quite different when you're not just reading about it, Meggie, and playing hero wasn't half as much fun as I'd expected. — Cornelia Funke

It was hard to let go of love. Once woven, its ribbon was hard to tear, and this one she'd woven quite firmly herself. — Cornelia Funke

Look at your daughter,' she whispered. 'As brave as ... as.. She wanted to compare Meggie to a hero in some story but all the heroes she could think of were men, and anyway none of them seemed to her brave enough for comparison to the girl standing there, perfectly straight, scrutinizing Capricorn's Black Jackets, with her chin jutting out defiantly. — Cornelia Funke

For a moment Dustfinger felt as if he had never been away- as if he had simply had a bad dream, and the memory of it had left a stale taste on his tongue,a shadow on his heart,nothing more. — Cornelia Funke

Every German child learns to speak English in school. — Cornelia Funke

A book always keeps something of its owner between its pages. — Cornelia Funke

Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but don't come back, ok? — Cornelia Funke

Yes,' she whispered. 'He was more worried about the book than me. — Cornelia Funke

The Fairy looked at the broken glass around her feet. Her shattered cage. And the one who'd put her in it was far, far away. But, no, she had caged herself. — Cornelia Funke

I don't like to eat the same dish every day, so I read very different things. — Cornelia Funke

Every book should begin with attractive endpapers. Preferably in a dark colour: dark red or dark blue, depending on the binding. When you open the book it's like going to the theatre. First you see the curtain. Then it's pulled aside and the show begins. — Cornelia Funke

I love to read aloud. — Cornelia Funke

Bo : Prop's very brave and I'm
good at cheering him up, so
we make a good team. — Cornelia Funke

It was far easier to believe in unhappiness than in happiness. — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

I pledge to set out to live a thousand lives between printed pages.
I pledge to use books as doors to other minds, old and young, girl and boy, man and animal.
I pledge to use books to open windows to a thousand different worlds and to the thousand different faces of my own world.
I pledge to use books to make my universe spread much wider than the world I live in every day.
I pledge to treat my books like friends, visiting them all from time to time and keeping them close. — Cornelia Funke

Perhaps she was more like him than he'd thought: her home, too, had consisted of paper and printer's ink. She probably felt as lost as he did in the real world. — Cornelia Funke

I will try to write books until I drop dead. — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

[She] did not reply. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to listen to what her bewildered heart was telling her. — Cornelia Funke

Mo could paint pictures in the empty air with his voice alone. — Cornelia Funke

Yes, everything will be all right, thanks to Elinor! She could have sung and danced (not that she was much of a dancer and she was sitting in a car). — Cornelia Funke

The fairy had flown over to the window and was peering curiously out at the alley.
"Forget it. Stay here," said Dustfinger. "Please. Believe me, it's no place for you out there."
She looked at him quizzically, then folded her wings and knelt on the windowsill. And there she stayed, as if she coudln't decide between the hot room and the strange freedom to be found outside. — Cornelia Funke

No, it wasn't quite true that John had no conscience at all. Everyone had one. But there were many voices in his head that had an easier time reaching him: his ambition, his desire for fame and success - and for revenge. — Cornelia Funke

My wife loves written words ... you know, words that stick to parchment and paper like dead flies, and it seems my father felt the same - but I want to hear words! Remember that when you are looking for the right words: You must ask yourself what they SOUND like! Glowing with passion, dark with sorrow, sweet with love, that's what I want. - Cosimo — Cornelia Funke

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened.
He was home again. — Cornelia Funke

What was a slap for ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world? — Cornelia Funke

Odd that your heart didn't simply stop when it hurt so much. — Cornelia Funke

Blue as the evening sky, blue as cranesbill flowers, blue as the lips of drowned men and the heart of a blaze burning with too hot a flame. Yes, sometimes it was hot in this world, too. Hot and cold, light and dark, terrible and beautiful, it was everything all at once. It wasn't true that you felt nothing in the land of Death. You felt and heard and smelled and saw, but your heart remained strangely calm, as if it were resting before the dance began again.
Peace. Was that the word? — Cornelia Funke

Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar. — Cornelia Funke

Secrets... nothing eats away at love faster. — Cornelia Funke

Love didn't deserve the nice reputation it had. — Cornelia Funke

No. Nothing could make it easier. You lost what you loved. That was death, here as well as there. — Cornelia Funke

Please," she whispered as she opened the book, "please get me out of here just for an hour or so, please take me far, far away — Cornelia Funke

Writing stories is a kind of magic, too. — Cornelia Funke

Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask for anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom and consolation against death. Who had said that? someone else who loved books. — Cornelia Funke

What's so unusual about that, princess?" he asked quietly. "Do you know how your story ends? — Cornelia Funke

And I plan to write a sequel to Dragon Rider. — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

Belive you me, this maze is a labrinth! — Cornelia Funke

Yes, I do enjoy walking at night. The world's more to my liking then, not so loud, not so fast, not so crowded, and a good deal more mysterious. — Cornelia Funke

Never develop a passion you can't afford. It'll eat your heart away like a bookworm. — Cornelia Funke

Death has white hounds. — Cornelia Funke

A strong and bitter book-sickness floods one's soul. How ignominious to be strapped to this ponderous mass of paper, print and dead man's sentiment. Would it not be better, finer, braver to leave the rubbish where it lies and walk out into the world a free untrammelled illiterate Superman? — Cornelia Funke

You are crazy!" whispered Meggie. "You're a total lunatic!"
But her opinion did not impress Fenoglio in the slightest. "So what? All writers are lunatics! — Cornelia Funke

The truth's not pretty of course. No one likes to look it in the face. — Cornelia Funke

Because by now Elinor had understood this, too: A longing for books was nothing compared with what you could feel for human beings. The books told you about that feeling. The books spoke of love, and it was wonderful to listen to them, but they were no substitute for love itself. They couldn't kiss her like Meggie, they couldn't hug her like Resa, they couldn't laugh like Mortimer. Poor books, poor Elinor. — Cornelia Funke

Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness and love. — Cornelia Funke

What was she hoping to gain from his death? That it would numb the pain of his betrayal, or heal her injured pride? Her red sister didn't know much about love. — Cornelia Funke

Was she happy? Yes. And no. Because now the words were back, and with them the name that had spun gold around her heart for so long she hardly remembered how things had felt before him. — Cornelia Funke

He sought her lips as if he needed to breathe through her, as if only she could keep him from choking on his rage. — Cornelia Funke

The Weaver wove herself from the thread of night, hair of moonlight, skin of stars. So old. Without beginning or end. — Cornelia Funke

Yes, Mo would come. Meggie could think of nothing else as Fenoglio led her away with him, his arm around her as if he could really protect her from Capricorn and Basta and all the others. But he couldn't. Would Mo be able to protect her? Of course not. He mustn't come, she thought. Please. Perhaps he won't be able to find his way in again! He mustn't come. Yet there was nothing she wanted more, nothing in the whole wide world. — Cornelia Funke

A child in the woods. A child with an army. — Cornelia Funke

There are not so many mythical creatures from Inkheart. — Cornelia Funke

The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness - and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. — Cornelia Funke

Nobody loves only once. — Cornelia Funke

Sometimes Fox thought all the men she knew had the dreams and wishes of nine-year-old boys - at least all the men she liked. — Cornelia Funke

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. — Cornelia Funke

Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination. — Cornelia Funke

Sometimes it's a good thing we don't remember things half as well as books do. — Cornelia Funke

Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else. — Cornelia Funke