Nicole Krauss

Where's the proof you ever had her? Where's the proof that she was yours to have?

I knew I had a chance. That, in a nutshell, was the end of my preoccupation with death. Not that I stopped fearing it. I just stopped thinking about it.

What is more than her love?

"I could learn Russian." Misha nodded. "I'll teach you. First word. Dai." "Dai." "Second word. Ruku." "What does it mean?" "Say it first." "Ruku." "Dai ruku." "Dai ruku. What does it mean?" Misha took my hand and held it.

It took seven languages to make me; it would be nice if I could have spoken just one. But I couldn't, so he leaned down and kissed me.

Litvinoff didn't find any comfort in this because there are two types of people in the world: those who prefer to be sad among others, and those who prefer to be sad alone.

Perhaps that is what it means to be a father--to teach your child to live without you.

Perhaps that's why I've never been able to throw anything away. Perhaps that's why I hoarded the world: with the hope that when I died, the sum total of my things would suggest a life larger than the one I lived.

He liked the color blue.

Why do people always get named after dead people? If they have to be named after anything at all, why can't it be things, which have more permanence, like the sky or the sea, or even ideas