Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.
Markus ZusakRead
Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep connection between the speaker and their father, likening his presence to the joyful sounds of an accordion.
Markus Zusak's quote captures the essence of a unique bond between a child and their father, portraying the father as a source of joy and music in the child's life. The comparison to an accordion suggests that the father's emotions and expressions create a harmonious and uplifting experience, resonating deeply with the narrator's feelings, emphasizing how familial love can be both profound and enchanting.
In practice
This quote could be shared at a Father's Day celebration to honor the joyful presence of fathers.
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.
Asking me to describe my son is like asking me to hold the ocean in a paper cup
Although my family attended the same church as everyone in our town, our religion was not the same. I could stand with my family or with the gentiles... but there was no foothold in between.
You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates.
Families who get evicted tend to live in worse housing than they did before, and they live in neighborhoods with higher poverty rates and higher crime rates than they did before.
I love my family, even as I critique their dysfunctionalities.
I was aware, in those early days of motherhood, that my behaviour was strange to the people who knew me well. It was as though I had been brainwashed, taken over by a cult religion. And yet this cult, motherhood, was not a place where I could actually live. Like any cult, it demanded a complete surrender of identity to belong to it.
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