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Rodel Quotes

Browse 12 quotes about Rodel.

Rodel Quotes

“I do recall hearing a conversation in our home in Strausberg, between my mother and my father, where my mother sounded very angry that my cousin had let the Rödels down by having to be dragged out of Oma’s house, crying for his mother and shouting that he did not want to return to the war in Russia. Like a great many other soldiers throughout that period, he died in Russia on 5 May, 1944. He was just twenty years of age, and is buried somewhere in that country.”

WwiiHitlerWw2Survival StoryNazi PartyHitler S GermanyWar StoryAlfred NestorUncle HitlerSecond World War In GermanyAlf NestorAuthor Alfred NestorSecond World War ChidhoodRodelRussian War
Book:Uncle Hitler: A Child's Traumatic Journey Through Nazi Hell to the Safety of Britain
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“I will remember the perfect oval of your face, the warmth of your throat, the way you hold a pen when you write. Most of all . . .” He cupped my chin, his eyes roving over my upturned face. “I will remember a strange, beautiful girl who liked the feel of old books and drank her coffee sweet. She snuck onto my porch on a gray day and taught me to see in color. She was a thief, my rainbow-haloed girl. When she left, she took my heart. And if I had another, I would give her that too”

JackRodel
Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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“My eyelids drooped, but I didn’t want to miss any of it—the way his fingertips were tracing the outline of my lips, the way his beautifully proportioned body felt against mine, the flecks of harvest gold in his sky-blue eyes. “Remember this.” He brushed the hair off my neck and breathed a kiss there. “When you’re curled up with your books on a rainy afternoon in England, remember how you painted my world with your colors. Remember your rainbow halo.” “I will.” A hot ache grew in my throat. He was already saying goodbye. “I’ll remember. For the rest of my life.”

JackRodel
Book:From His Lips
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“His gaze traveled over my face for a long, still beat before falling on my neck. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving,” he said to the mark his teeth had left there. “I stop breathing every time I think about it.” He found another one, closer to my collarbone, and pressed his lips to it. “I want you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” His voice was muffled, vibrating against my flesh with deep, soft resonance. “Will I miss you?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Like a dream that starves and curls up beneath my bones.”

JackRodel
Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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