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Quote by Maggie Stiefvater

Work

Linger

This book delves into the complexities of human emotions, focusing on the enduring impact of love and the pain of loss. more

Author

Maggie Stiefvater
Maggie Stiefvater

Maggie Stiefvater is an American author known for her young adult novels. Her most famous works include 'The Scorpio Races' and 'The Raven Cycle'. Stiefvater's writing is celebrated for its unique narrative style and deep portrayal of the natural environment. more

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“Die Menschen wissen nicht, dass sie Bücher haben wollen. Ich brauche Sie nur anzusehen, um zu erkennen, dass Ihre Seele krank ist, weil sie der Lektüre entbehrt, aber zum Glück sind Sie sich dessen nicht bewusst. Die Menschen gehen erst dann zu einem Buchhändler, wenn sie nach einem schweren Unfall ihrer Seele oder durch Krankheit die Gefahr erkennen. Dann kommen sie hierher. Würde ich Werbung machen, wäre das etwa so sinnvoll, als würde man kerngesunde Menschen zum Arzt schicken.”

“Shane and Claire quickly moved to stand back to back. So did Eve and Michael. Among the four of them, they were covering every angle. “Lurking isn’t answering,” Shane said. “Oliver? Little help?” Instead, one of the shapes stepped forward into the light. Morley. Claire felt relieved, and annoyed. Of course it was Morley. Why had she ever doubted it? He was the champion lurker of all time.”

“All Hell is smaller than one pebble of your earthly world: but it is smaller than one atom of this world, the Real World. Look at yon butterfly. If it swallowed all Hell, Hell would not be big enough to do it any harm or to have any taste' 'It seems big enough when you're in it, Sir.' 'And yet all loneliness, angers, hatreds, envies, and itchings that it contains, if rolled into one single experience and put into the scale against the least moment of the joy that is felt by the least in Heaven, would have no weight that could be registered at all. Bad cannot succeed even in being bad as truly as good is good. If all Hell's miseries together entered the consciousness of yon wee yellow bird on the bough there, they would be swallowed up without trace, as if one drop of ink had been dropped into that Great Ocean to which your terrestrial Pacific is only a molecule' 'I see,' said I at last. 'She couldn't fit into Hell.”