Rooftoppers

I do, I’m afraid, understand books far more readily than I understand people. Books are so easy to get along with.

I think, actually, everyone starts out with some strange in them. It's just whether or not you decide to keep it.

Books crowbar the world open for you.

Only weak thinkers do not love the sky.

I know these sorts of people. They're not men. They're mustaches with idiots attached.

Perhaps, she thought, that’s what love does. It’s not there to make you feel special. It’s to make you brave. It was like a ration pack in the desert, she thought, like a box of matches in a dark wood. Love and courage, thought Sophie—two words for the same thing.

You have been the great green adventure of my life. Without you my days would be unlit.

But it's a child! You're a man!" "Your powers of observation are formidable," said Charles. "You are a credit to your optician.

It was what her mother had always been. A place to put down her heart. A resting stop to recover her breath. A set of stars and maps.

The baby was almost certainly one year old. They knew this because of the red rosette pinned to her front, which read, 1! "Or rather," said Charles Maxim, "the child is either one year old or she has come first in a competition. I believe babies are rarely keen participants in competitive sport. Shall we therefore assume it is the former?

But those coins are wishes! You’re stealing other people’s wishes!” The look Matteo gave her was so flinty, she could have chipped a tooth on it. “If you have money to waste on wishes, you don’t need the wishes as badly as I need the money.

He was thirty-six years old, and six foot three. He spoke English to people and French to cats, and Latin to the birds. He had once nearly killed himself trying to read and ride a horse at the same time.

She hated official letters. They made her feel nervous. The people who wrote them sounded like they had filing cabinets where their hearts should be.

You look as though you own a minimum of one pony.

Adults are taught not to believe anything unless it is boring or ugly.

It is difficult to believe extraordinary things.

Let me introduce you. Sophie, this is Miss Eliot, from the National Childcare Agency. Miss Eliot, this is Sophie, from the ocean.

Sophie and Charles did not live neatly, but neatness, Sophie thought, was not necessary for happiness.

Governments can do both great and stupid things.

If, when reading and walking at the same time, he bumped into a lamppost, he would apologize and check that the lamppost was unhurt.

Books crow-bar the world open for you.

You shouldn't say what you don't mean

It's like eight thousand birds, Charles! Charles! Isn't it like eight thousand birds?

Why didn’t she keep looking?” “My darling, because she is an adult.” Sophie ducked behind her hair. Her face was hot and tight and angry. “That’s not a reason.” “It is, my love. Adults are taught not to believe anything unless it is boring or ugly.

An Englishman without an umbrella is less than half a man,” he said. Matteo

The dark-haired girl had the face of someone who had seen a lot, and wouldn’t mind punching most of it.

If music can shine, Sophie thought, this music shone... 'It's like eight thousand birds, Charles!' When the music closed, she clapped until the rest of the audience had stopped and until her hands were hot and blotched with red... There was something in the music that felt familiar to Sophie. 'It feels,' she said to Charles, 'like home.

Quite suddenly Sophie couldn't bear it. She pelted up to her bedroom, tripping over the stairs. The tears in her eyes were making the world blur... She stamped and kicked... It took her some minutes to realize that Charles was standing in the doorway... 'This calls for hot water... Get in the tub, Sophie, and do some splashing. You will be surprised at what a difference splashing can make.