***HERE IS A SMALL FACT*** You are going to die. - Markus Zusak

My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.

"She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half.
Then a chapter.
Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better.
What good were the words?
She said it audibly now, to the orange-lit room. "What good are the words?

It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true — big things are often just small things that are noticed.