Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.
Markus ZusakRead
Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.
Interpretation
Time is perceived differently than just the ticking of a clock; it can represent life and death.
This quote explores the somber realization that time, often measured by the ticking of a clock, carries a weight that is far more profound, symbolizing mortality and the passage of life. It contrasts the mundane sound of a clock with the metaphorical and ominous sound of a hammer digging into the earth, reminiscent of graves, illustrating how time can also signify loss and the inevitable end of life.
In practice
This quote can be used in a memorial speech to reflect on the passage of time and the inevitability of death.
Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.
It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died.
Because you don't learn anything unless you can find the patience to read. TV takes that away from you. It robs you from your mind.
Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
I think it's a mistake to think, 'Am I going to write a young adult book, or do I desperately want to write a book for adults?' I think the better ambition is to try to write someone's favorite book, because those categorizations of adult, young adult, become kind of superfluous.
I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.
We benefit, intellectually and personally, from the interplay between different selves, from the balance between long-term contemplation and short-term impulse. We should be wary about tipping the scales too far. The community of selves shouldn't be a democracy, but it shouldn't be a dictatorship, either.
I'm a pessimist if I'm not careful, a feminist, a Black,...an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty, and drive.
Maybe you feel pressure to be positive because so many people rely on your good, fake-positive energy? If that's the case, screw everybody else. You're not a bottle of Valium.
I was never an assimilationist. I always thought gays had some special mission.
The beauty of darkness _x000D_ is how it lets you see.
But that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. If I had a yaller dog that didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pison him. It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow.
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