Anthony Doerr

One night he sits up. In cots around him are a few dozen sick or wounded. A warm September wind pours across the countryside and sets the walls of the tent rippling.

— Anthony Doerr

Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

— Anthony Doerr

I am only alive because I have not yet died.

— Anthony Doerr