Judith Kerr Quotes

We’ll come back,” said Papa. “I know,” said Anna... “But it won’t be the same - we won’t belong. Do you think we’ll ever really belong anywhere?” “I suppose not,” said Papa. “Not the way people belong who have lived in one place all their lives. But we’ll belong a little in lots of places, and I think that may be just as good.

Herhalde ünlü olabilmek için kötü bir çocukluk geçirmek gerekiyor diye düşündü Anna.

Neden bir arada oynayamıyorlardı sanki? Bunun için de aynı partiyi mi tutmak gerekiyordu.

If you want to write about disasters, that’s what you must do. It’s no use trying to write what other people want. The only way to write anything good is to try to please yourself.” (Page 22).

You see a lady sitting there and she's not doing anything and you tend to forget that of course she wasn't always a little old lady. There's all this colored stuff inside her, it's all inside, bubbling.

Daily Parisian

Monsieur Fernand...took them to a large busy restaurant where they sat at a table outside on the pavement and ordered a meal. 'Snails for the children!' cried Fernand. 'They've never tried them.' Max stared at his portion in horror and could not bring himself to touch them. But Anna, encouraged by Francine, tried one and found that it tasted like a very delicious mushroom.

Do you think we’ll ever really belong anywhere?” “I suppose not,” said Papa. “Not the way people belong who have lived in one place all their lives. But we’ll belong a little in lots of places, and I think that may be just as good.

There are Jews scattered all over the world,’ he said, ‘and the Nazis are telling terrible lies about them. So it’s very important for people like us to prove them wrong.’ ‘How can we?’ asked Max. ‘By being better than other people,’ said Papa.

They listened to them screaming down from the sky. One…two…three…four very close – five and six, thank goodness, receding. Then there was another plane and another – it can’t go on like this, thought Anna, but it did.

It turned out that no one in the house had spent a night in London since the beginning of the air raids, and they asked her endless questions as though she were some strange creature from another world. The maharajah, if he was one, kept saying, terrible, terrible, and how did people survive, which was silly, thought Anna, for what else could you do if you had no choice

There was a crash, closer than the rest, which shook the building and as Anna felt the floor move a little beneath her the word “bombardment” came into her mind. I’m in a bombardment, she thought. I’m lying on the floor of the Hotel Continental in my pink pyjamas in the middle of a bombardment.

But soon they began to arrive in large numbers both by day and by night. It was unnerving, as you went about your business, to listen to the sound of the engines which might cut out at any moment. You prayed for the buzz-bombs to keep going, but felt guilty while you did so because you knew they would only fall on someone else. And the fact that the war might soon be over made everyone wish, quite desperately, to stay alive.

She tried to remember that she was a Jew and must not be frightened, otherwise the Nazis would say that all Jews were cowards - but it was no use.

All the famous people had had an awful time. One of them had had a drunken father. Another had a stammer. Another had to wash hundreds of dirty bottles. They had all had what was called a difficult childhood. Clearly you had to have one if you wanted to become famous.

I don’t really mind where we are,’ she said – ‘as long as we’re all together.

1942.

Omama finished her sentence, exactly as though Max had crystallised the thought for her. Anna and Max burst into uncontrollable laughter, but Mama said, ‘Nonsense, Mother!’ quite sharply and told Max to go and get himself cleaned up. ‘As a matter of fact the children are doing extremely well,’ she told Omama and added when Max was safely out of the room, ‘Max is working for the first time in his life.’ ‘And I’m going to take the certificat d’études!’ said Anna. This was her big news. Madame Socrate had decided, since her work had improved so much, that there was now no reason why she shouldn’t take the examination in the summer with the rest of the class. ‘The certificat d’études?’ said Omama. ‘Isn’t that some kind of elementary school examination?’ ‘It’s for French twelve-year-old children,’ said Mama, ‘and Anna’s teacher thinks it remarkable that she should have

Everything I do is autobiographical. I’m into old ladies because I’ve been one for some considerable time now.

Yes,” said Papa, “and to me it doesn’t seem so very long ago. Of course we didn’t know then that we’d be spending your tenth birthday steaming about Lake Zurich as refugees from Hitler.” “Is a refugee someone who’s had to leave their home?” asked Anna. “Someone who seeks refuge in another country,” said Papa. “I don’t think I’m quite used to being one yet,” said Anna. “It’s an odd feeling,” said Papa. “You live in a country all your life. Then suddenly it is taken over by thugs and there you are, on your own in a strange place, with nothing.” He looked so cheerful as he said this that Anna asked, “Don’t you mind?” “In a way,” said Papa. “But I find it very interesting.

I wonder where we’ll be on your eleventh birthday,” said Papa, “and on your twelfth.

Suddenly the work seemed quite easy and she was beginning to enjoy writing stories and compositions in French. It was not a bit like writing in German – you could make the words do quite different things – and she found it curiously exciting.

If …if …if …” said Heimpi. “If my grandmother had wheels she’d be a bus and we could all go for a ride in her.” That was what she always said.

Papa,” said Anna after the first excitement of seeing him safe and sound had worn off. “Papa, I was a bit upset when I heard about the price on your head.” “So was I!” said Papa. “Very upset.” “Were you?” asked Anna, surprised. Papa had always seemed so brave. “Well, it’s such a very small price,” explained Papa. “A thousand marks goes nowhere these days. I think I’m worth a lot more, don’t you?” “Yes,” said Anna, feeling better. “No self-respecting kidnapper would touch it,” said Papa. He shook his head sadly. “I’ve a good mind to write to Hitler and complain!

It was all exactly as it had been, and yet there was something about this very sameness that made Anna and Max feel a little like strangers. How could the Zwirns’ lives have stayed so much the same when their own had become so different? “You’d think just something would have changed,” said Max, and Franz asked, “What sort of thing?” but Max did not know himself.

You have no idea – but no idea –” shouted Mama, “of the work I have to do. I get worn out washing and cooking and ironing and mending, and all you ever say is that it isn’t necessary!

She thought of the flat in Paris and the Gasthof Zwirn. No, it was absurd. Some things had been difficult, but it had always been interesting and often funny – and she and Max and Mama and Papa had nearly always been together. As long as they were together she could never have a difficult childhood. She sighed a little as she abandoned her hopes.

Can you understand what they’re saying?” asked Anna. “Not a word,” said Max. “A few months and we’ll be able to,” said Anna.

In the end there was only room for some books and one of Anna’s stuffed toys. Should she choose Pink Rabbit which had been her companion ever since she could remember, or a newly acquired woolly dog? It seemed a pity to leave the dog when she had hardly had time to play with it, and Heimpi packed it for her.

There seemed to be less to pack each time they moved – so many things had been used up and thrown away – and one grey morning less than two weeks after the letter had come from England, they were ready to leave.

We’ll come back,” said Papa. “I know,” said Anna. She remembered how she had felt when they had gone back to the Gasthof Zwirn for the holidays and added, “But it won’t be the same – we won’t belong. Do you think we’ll ever really belong anywhere?” “I suppose not,” said Papa. “Not the way people belong who have lived in one place all their lives. But we’ll belong a little in lots of places, and I think that may be just as good.

I’ve never minded being a refugee before. In fact I’ve loved it. I think the last two years, when we’ve been refugees, have been much better than if we’d stayed in Germany. But if you send us away now I’m so terribly frightened …I’m so terribly frightened …” “Of what?” asked Papa. “That I might really feel like one!” said Anna and burst into tears.

I don’t know how we lived here for two years,” said Mama. Anna rubbed her hand over the red oilcloth on the table. “I liked it,” she said.

For a moment she felt terribly sad about Pink Rabbit. It had had embroidered black eyes – the original glass ones had fallen out years before – and an endearing habit of collapsing on its paws. Its fur, though no longer very pink, had been soft and familiar. How could she ever have chosen to pack that characterless woolly dog in its stead? It had been a terrible mistake, and now she would never be able to put it right.

Isn’t it lovely!” cried Anna and somehow, suddenly, she no longer minded about her birthday and her presents. It seemed rather fine and adventurous to be a refugee, to have no home and not to know where one was going to live. Perhaps at a pinch it might even count as a difficult childhood like the ones in Gunther’s book and she would end up by being famous. (Page 67).

Well then,” she said, “if you look the same as everyone else and you don’t go to a special church, how do you know you are Jewish? How can you be sure?” There was a pause. “I suppose …” said Anna, “I suppose it’s because my mother and father are Jews, and I suppose their mothers and fathers were too. I never thought about it much until Papa started talking about it last week.” “Well, I think it’s silly!” said Elsbeth. “It’s silly about Adolf Hitler and people being Jews and everything!” She started to run and Anna followed her.