I prefer a story that has the good sense to stay on the page where it belongs. - Elinor — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else. — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Stories never really end...even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don't end on the last… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
This book taught me, once and for all, how easily you can escape this world with the help of words! You can… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
What was a slap for ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
She read and read and read, but she was stuffing herself with the letters on the page like an unhappy child stuffing… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
I pledge to set out to live a thousand lives between printed pages. I pledge to use books as doors to other… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Perhaps there's another, much larger story behind the printed one, a story that changes just as our own world does. And the… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Is there anything in the world better than words on the page? Magic signs, the voices of the dead, building blocks to… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There where books… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?" Mo had said..."As if something were left… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
So Mo began filling the silence with words. He lured them out of the pages as if they had only been waiting… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
If you take a book with you on a journey," Mo had said when he put the first one in her box,… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share Image
There was another reason [she] took her books whenever they went away. They were her home when she was somewhere strange. They were familiar… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
“A story is a labyrinth, it looks as if there were several ways to go, but only one is right, and there's a nasty… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
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… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
“For a moment Dustfinger felt as if he had never been away- as if he had simply had a bad dream, and the memory… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
Don't let it worry you, not being able to speak,'Dustfinger had often told her. 'People tend not to listen anyway, right? — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
“And he will have a great aunt called Elinor who tells him there's a world not like this one. A world with neither fairies… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
“Yes, Mo would come. Meggie could think of nothing else as Fenoglio led her away with him, his arm around her as if he… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
When it came to hiding, even Gwin had nothing to teach Dustfinger. A strange sense of curiosity had always driven him to explore the… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination. — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
Perhaps there's another, much larger story behind the printed one, a story that changes just as our own world does. And the letters on… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
I remember the feeling. Whenever my father got so absorbed in a book that we might have been in visible I felt like taking… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
I wish you luck,' she said, kissing him on the cheek. He still had the most beautiful eyes of any boy she'd ever seen.… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
Because by now Elinor had understood this, too: A longing for books was nothing compared with what you could feel for human beings. The… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal. The ticking of a clock. The groan of a floorboard as he slipped out… — Cornelia Funke Copy Share
