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Cornelia Funke -
Hands
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Desperate? So what? I'm desperate, too!" Fenoglio snapped at her. "My story is foundering in misfortune, and these hands here," he said holding them out to her, "don't want to write anymore! I'm afraid of words Meggie! 'Once they were like honey, now they're poison, pure poison! But what is a writer who doesn't love words anymore? What have I come to? This story is devouring me, crushing me, and I'm it's creator!
Cornelia Funke
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She pressed her hand against her chest. No heart. So where did the love she felt come from?
Cornelia Funke
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All books are in safe hands with me. They're my children, my inky children, and I look after them well. I keep the sunlight away from their pages, I dust and protect them from hungry hookworms and grubby human fingers.
Cornelia Funke
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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.
Cornelia Funke
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Nobody ever did anything very foolish except from some strong principle.
William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne
Cornelia Funke
Born:
December 10, 1958
(age 65)
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