88
" They forked up in the air for him, like trees branching in the night, and rained down sparks. They roared and whispered with their crackling voices, they had danced when he said the word. The flames here were both tame and mutinous, strange, silent beasts that sometimes bit the hand that fed them. Only occasionally, on cold nights when there was nothing but the flames to stave off his loneliness, did he think he heard them calling to him, but they whispered words he didn't understand. "
― Cornelia Funke , Inkheart (Inkworld, #1)
94
" Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness – and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn’t ask anything in return, they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom and consolation against death. "
― Cornelia Funke , Inkheart (Inkworld, #1)