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Ruta Sepetys

  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    Hello, dear Hannelore!

    How writing or just thinking your name alters my mood. Sometimes I lie on my cot and whisper it oh so slowly into the darkness. Han-ne-lore. Little Lore.
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    “Enough studying, Joana. Sometimes living life is more instructive than studying it,” my father used to tease.
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    Originally created in Prussia and gifted to Peter the Great, the Amber Room was a glittering chamber of amber, jewels, gold, and mirrors.
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    Mother was anchor. Mother was comfort. Mother was home.
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    Mother was anchor. Mother was comfort. Mother was home.
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    I looked down at her lips
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    As the philosophers say, ‘Life is short,
    but art is long.’
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    Hitler might lose the war, but he wouldn’t be willing to surrender all the art he had stolen. Especially not the Amber Room
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    So instead of creating art or collecting it, Hitler stole it. Large albums with photos and lists of the items he targeted for his museum were assembled. Two such albums had been
    delivered to Dr. Lange. Some of the art listed was in private homes, owned by Jewish families. Other pieces, like the Julian Falat painting, were in museums. The Czartoryski Museum in Kraków had been pillaged. Masterpieces by da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Raphael now hung in the private apartments of Nazi officials
  • Susana Algaramembuat kutipan2 tahun yang lalu
    I knew Mama would say them if she could. But Joana spoke them, slowly and deliberately, clutching my hands between hers.

    “Emilia, I am so very sorry.”

    My chin began to tremble. My throat tightened. I nodded and warm tears spilled down my cheeks.

    “I’m sorry,” she repeated, squeezing my hands.

    “Me too,” I whispered.
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