Deborah Ellis Quotes

Nobody really owns anything. We give back our bodies at the end of our lives. We own our thoughts, but everything else is just borrowed. We use it for a while, then pass it on. Everything. We borrow the sun that shines on us today from the people on the other side of the world while they borrow the moon from us. Then we give it back. We can't keep the sun, no matter how afraid we are of the dark.

She doesn't know where she is going. She doesn't know when the next demons will appear. But she will keep on walking. She will follow the moon.

it made her angry, and since she could do nothing with her anger, it made her sad.

These are unusual times. They call for ordinary people to do unusual things, just to get by.

I didn't create this world,” she said to herself. “I only have to live in it.

Truth is always the most important thing, even when it leads us into dark places.

A lazy brain does no one any good.

The path you are on is one you chose for yourself

Grownups shouldn’t turn their backs on children.

To Kill a Mockingbird,” she said slowly. “What’s a mockingbird?” Asif asked. Parvana didn’t know. “It’s like a...a chicken,” she said. “This book is about killing chickens.

All girls [should read] THE BREADWINNER by Deborah Ellis." ~ Malala Yousafzai

Life is dangerous, but we’re all brave, aren’t we?

Afghans love beautiful things, but we have seen so much ugliness, we sometimes forget how wonderful a thing like a flower is

We have to remember this,” Parvana said. “When things get better and we grow up, we have to remember that there was a day when we were kids when we stood in a graveyard and dug up bones to sell so that our families could eat.

The people who hate us can’t see through the wall.,

Grownups killing each other,

Even before you've gone anywhere, you feel like you've gone somewhere

Tanks were normal. Bombs were normal. Why couldn’t eating be normal?

The world is our classroom,” he always said,

The little girl's voice was thin with pain. “They were so pretty,” she said. And then she died.

We have to remember this,” Parvana said. “When things get better and we grow up, we have to remember that there was a day when we were kids when we stood in a graveyard and dug up bones to sell so that our families could eat." "Will anyone believe us?" "No. But we will know it happens

Nobody really owns anything. We give back our bodies at the end of our lives.We own our thoughts, but everything else is borrowed. Everything.

The part of me that’s me is gone. I’m just part of this line of people. There’s no me left. I’m nothing.

Grandmother was gone. The house was gone. Green Valley was gone.

Your brain needs exercise, just like your body,” he said. “A lazy brain does no one any good.

It was the 1990s, and the world was a mess.

Like it or not, you need to know how to do this. Your future depends on it. You give up on this, you will give up on the next difficult thing, and you are too smart and too strong to start giving up.

Already you are walking in the heat to get somewhere, but where can you go? There is nowhere but here. This street or that street, it is all the same. One day you will know this, and you will sit down and wait.

But first and most important, we are human beings with a right to choose for ourselves how we want to live. All we have is our lives. Each person gets just one. We owe our parents and the revolution our respect, but we don’t owe them everything. And everything is what they want. I choose you, not just because you are wonderful and not just because you love me. I choose you because the act of choosing you belongs to me. It is mine, my choice, my free will. I choose you over my father. I choose you over my country. And even if you decide you don’t want me, I still choose you. Because in choosing you, I am choosing myself.

The sun was setting behind a line of trees; it cast a great bird's wing halfway across the field when she finally headed back towards the house. In the warm shade of the first enclosed garden, the datura plants were already releasing pulses of their heady night scent. The coffee aroma of earlier was now a burnt chocolate and earthy spice smell that would deepen with the night. Ellie felt a burning sensation in her nose, like mustard.

Scrubby evergreen bushes released a strong scent of resin and honey; forests of pine gave way to gentle south-facing vineyards disturbed only by the ululation of early summer cicadas. Sitting up tall on the seat, she craned around eagerly to see what plants thrived naturally. It was a wild and romantic place, Laurent de Fayols had written, the whole island once bought as a wedding gift to his wife by a man who had made his fortune in the silver mines of Mexico. One of three small specks in the Mediterranean known as the Golden Isles, after the oranges, lemons, and grapefruit that glowed like lamps in their citrus groves. There were few reference works in English that offered information beyond superficial facts about the island, and those she had managed to find were old. The best had been published in 1880, by a journalist called Adolphe Smith. Ellie had been struck by the loveliness of his "description of the most Southern Point of the French Riviera": 'The island is divided into seven ranges of small hills, and in the numerous valleys thus created are walks sheltered from every wind, where the umbrella pines throw their deep shade over the path and mingle their balsamic odor with the scent of the thyme, myrtle and the tamarisk.

I didn’t create this world,” she said to herself. “I only have to live in it.

Parvana found it all very confusing.

but there will be other things, new things. That's how it is with change. You leave one thing behind, and there's something else to take it's place.

But there will be other things, new things. That's how it is with change. You leave one thing behind, and there's something else to take its place.

The Stalker by Gail Anderson-Dargatz In From the Cold by Deborah Ellis Shipwreck by Maureen Jennings The Picture of Nobody by Rabindranath Maharaj The Hangman by Louise Penny Easy Money by Gail Vaz-Oxlade 2011

Eau-de-vie- flavored with myrtle," said the old woman. "Try it!" She watched intently as Ellie raised the glass to her lips. "Myrtle from the garden. I steep the berries with honey in the local firewater, but the secret ingredient is the flower, added for the final day. Such a pretty white flower it is, drowned in purple for just one day." The liqueur tasted of stewed plums. Not unpleasant, but very strong.

Through the rose garden, the path ran straight ahead to the mass of mauve wisteria, now past its best. At ground level, Ellie could see now that it formed a tunnel leading deeper into the garden, gnarled trunks growing over a long wooden frame that was rotten in places. At the end was a green space the size of a large room, walled by a hedge of clipped myrtle. From all sides white trumpets of datura hung down, smelling faintly of coffee. "I've never seen such a display," said Ellie. "My mother planted them many years ago. Moonflowers." "Also known as devil's trumpet." "Angel's trumpet, too. Or so she told me.

Aunt Ellie is like that. Nothing is a big deal to her. Not stray dogs or cats, not ghosts, not divorces, and especially not kids who are homeless.

You? Common sense?” Asif laughed.

They were so pretty,” she said. And then she died.

Either way, we’ll be heroes.” “Just what the world needs,” Aaron said. “More dumb-luck heroes.” He moved two chairs over to the window by the telescope. “It’s not about catching terrorists. It’s about keeping people safe.” “Us or them?” “On a good day, both.

There is the belief that punishment should be retribution, that it should make the offender suffer,” she continued. “Others believe that the main purpose of punishment should be to help the victim feel better. Should a punishment be so terrible that it deters others from committing the same crime? Is punishment ever a deterrent or do offenders always believe they will get away with their crime?

For example, if we put someone to death for killing someone else, does that make us killers, too?

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

to the children we force to be braver than they should have to be.

Which do you think is more important, Binti- jobs of freedom of speech?' Binti thought for a moment. 'It depends on how poor you are.

He died on the floor, but he was surrounded by music and by people who loved him,' said the pastor, as he knelt with them to pray. 'Many are the kings. whose death was not as good.

They were going to turn her into a boy.

THREE

Nobody really owns anything. We give back our bodies at the end of our lives. We own our thoughts, but everything else is just borrowed. We use it for a while, then pass it on.

Good literature is not the sole key to a sustained livable future for all, but it is certainly one of the keys

«Gli Afghani amano le cose belle» disse, «ma hanno visto così tanti orrori che a volte dimenticano quanto puù essere belle un fiore.»

a child shaking a woman on the ground who was not responding.

The little girl’s voice was thin with pain. “They were so pretty,” she said. And then she died.