I heard the gentle click of Aunt Julia's knitting needles. No one knew what she was knitting, but we all knew why. (p18) - Ida Fink

If the police didn't show up before then. Always that little word: if. (p178)

Tiny drops of moisture bead up on her forehead. She wipes them off with the back of her hand and with this gesture seems to wipe away the thoughts that torment her, because once again she smiles and says, "Did you ever see someone who was killed in the war but who is still alive?"

In the evening, in my spacious attic room, I wrote, "Will I find peace here? Peace. I yearn for peace." Out of habit, I hid the sheet of paper under the mattress, where it stayed, blank, except for that one line of fine handwriting at the top. (p228)