Cold comradeship do stars provide.They light the closer, inner sideOf night's vast weight, which, chill and clear,Pulls on us like some puppeteer.Its unseen threads to heads and heartsAttached, it acts us through our parts,From birth's first cry to bent old age,Upon our distant, tiny stage.
Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment.'There were stars,' He said. 'They burned my eyes._...from a Himmel street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.
The Book Thief
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Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment.'There were stars,' He said. 'They burned my eyes._...from a Himmel street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.
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