The Shoulder Shrug. It was a blue book with red writing engraved on the cover, and there was a small picture of a cuckoo bird under the title, also red. pg 84

To her, they were only victims of circumstance. The only thought that continually recurred was the yellow tear. Had it been dark, she realized, that tear would have been black. pg 100

Orange and red embers looked like rejected candy, and most of the crowd had vanished. pg 114

Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would ring them out like the rain. pg 80

The book was hot and wet, blue and red – embarrassed – and Hans Hubermann opened it up. pg 125

She could have shot herself, scratched herself, or indulged in other forms of self-mutilation, but she chose what she probably felt to be the weakest option – to at least endure the discomfort of the weather. For all Liesel knew, she prayed for summer days that were cold and wet. pg 146

White sky.
The others ran. pg 165

As he looked uncomfortably at the human ship before him, the young man’s voice was scraped out and handed across the dark like it was all that remained of him. pq 173

Poor Rudy.
He didn’t deserve to die the way he did. pg 241

The gray-covered book with its yellowing pages found its way into her hands as she began to walk the corridor. pg 259

At face value, Viktor Chemmel was clearly your typical teenage bullshit artist. Unfortunately, when he felt like revealing it, he also possessed a certain charisma, a kind of follow me. pg 273

Liesel often glanced down at The Whistler, at they gray cover and the black imprinted title. pg 292

A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH
I do not carry a sickle or scythe.
I only wear a hooded black robe when it’s cold.
And I don’t have those skull like
facial features you seem to enjoy
pinning on me from a distance. You
want to know what I truly look like?
I’ll help you out. Find yourself
a mirror while I continue. pg 307

By the time I was finished, the sky was yellow, like burning newspaper.
pg 336

Summer came.
For the book thief, everything was going nicely.
For me, the sky was the colour of Jews.
pg 349

How many had actively persecuted others, high on the scent of Hitler’s gaze, repeating his sentences, his paragraphs, his opus? pg 366-367

The men in the unit would explain to him on his first day that it really stood for Leichensammler Einheit – Dead Body Collectors. pg 432

It was white and warm, and it crept behind them. pg 433

She read in the kitchen.
Red and Yellow gaps in the stove.
The Word Shaker. pg 443

Oh, and one more thing.
He would die with his mouth open. pg 463

It kills me sometimes, how people die. pg 464

The glow of fire was gone and the morning was still and black. pg 490

Above me, the sky eclipsed – just a last moment of darkness – and I swear I could see a black signature in the shape of a swastika. It loitered untidily above. pg 491

More words arrived, this time from the soldier. pg 514

By the time she had made it down the hill and across the bridge, the orange light had vanished. Clouds were mopping up. pg 523

The hot sky was red and turning. Pepper streaks were starting to swirl and I became curious. pg 533

He dropped the accordion and his silver eyes continued to rust. pg 538

It’s lucky I was there.
Then again, who am I kidding? I’m in most places at least once, and in 1943, I was just about everywhere. pg 539

In Liesels vision, the sky I saw was grey and glossy. A silver afternoon pg 547