Killers aren't always assassins. Sometimes, they don't even have blood on their hands.

Good men are often more practical than pretty " said Mother. "Andrius just happens to be both.

How did I get here How did I end up in the arms of a boy I barely knew but knew I didn't want to lose I wondered what I would have thought of Andrius in Lithuania. Would I have liked him Would he have liked me

I felt as if I were riding a pendulum. Just as I would swing into the abyss of hopelessness, the pendulum would swing back with some small goodness.

...we're dealing with two devils who both want to rule hell.

They were happy to help someone, to succeed at something, even if they weren't to benefit.

I leapt eagerly into books. The characters’ lives were so much more interesting than the lonely heartbeat of my own.

We cannot be too cautious, Hannelore. Just because someone knocks on the door doesn't mean you have to open it. Sometimes, sweet girl, there are wolves at the door. If we are not careful, they might eat us.

I didn't need his criticism. I carried enough guilt on my own. I had done everything wrong. I had the highest marks in school but couldn't master common sense.

What did I want? I wanted the war to be over so I could ask her out.

Just when you think this war has taken everything you loved, you meet someone and realize that somehow you still have more to give.

The soldier stared at Ingrid. His silence was elastic, slowly curling a rope around her neck.

Revolting. If women were so careless to become pregnant at such a time, let women sort it out.

Sometimes there is such beauty in awkwardness.

Mother, why are you breaking your beautiful things?' I asked...'Because I love them so much.

Everyone has a price,” she said.“But clearly not everyone has a soul,

I knew the legends of the birds. Seagulls were the souls of dead soldiers. Owls were the souls of women. Doves were the recently departed souls of unmarried girls.Was there a bird for the souls of people like me?

Every nation has hidden history, countless stories preserved only by those who experienced them. Stories of war are often read and discussed worldwide by readers whose nations stood on opposite sides during battle. History divided us, but through reading we can be united in story, study, and remembrance. Books join us together as a global reading community, but more important, a global human community striving to learn from the past.

War had bled color from everything, leaving nothing but a storm of gray.

In 1991, after fifty years of brutal occupation, the three Baltic countries regained their independence, peacefully and with dignity. They chose hope over hate and showed the world that even through the darkest night, there is light. These three tiny nations have taught us that love is the most powerful army. Whether love of a friend, love of country, love of God, or even love of enemy- love reveals to us the truly miraculous nature of the human spirit.

What had human beings become? Did war make us evil or just activate an evil already lurking within us?

My war had been so long, my winter so cold. But i had made it home. And for the first time in a long time, i was not afraid.

I wanted to stay locked away from the pain and destruction. I didn't want to be strong. I didn't want to be the 'smart girl'. I was so very tired. I just wanted it all to be over.

Mother was anchor. Mother was comfort. Mother was home. A girl who lost her mother was suddenly a tiny boat on an angry ocean. Some boats eventually floated ashore. And some boats, like me, seemed to float farther and farther from land.

But unlike Mama, I would not go to heaven. My secrets padlocked the gates. I'd be a torn kite stuck in the dead branches of a tree, unable to fly.

War is catastrophe. It breaks families in irretrievable pieces. But those who are gone are not necessarily lost.

Your daughter, your sister. She is salt to the sea,

How foolish to believe we are more powerful than the sea or the sky.

There's a saying, 'Death hath a thousand doors to let out life; I shall find one.' But the children. That's what I struggle with.' He shook his head. 'Why the children?

But wasn't there some sort of rule that said parents had to be smarter than their kids? It didn't seem fair.

But how can they just decide that we're animals? They don't even know us," I said."We know us," said Mother. "They're wrong. And don't ever allow them to convince you otherwise. Do you understand?

It's safer for you to stay with the others,' he said.Safer? He didn't realize.I was already dead.

They got everything money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gonna be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir.

Mother was comfort. Mother was home. A girl who lost her mother was suddenly a tiny boat on an angry ocean. Some boats eventually floated ashore. And some boats, like me, seemed to float farther and farther from land

My husband, Andrius, says that evil will rule until good men or women choose to act. I believe him. This testimony was written to create an absolute record, to speak in a world where our voices have been extinguished. These writing may shock or horrify you, but that is not my intention. It is my greatest hope that the pages in this jar stir your deepest well of human compassion. I hope they prompt you to do something, to tell somone. Only then can we ensure that this kind of evil is never allowed to repeat itself.

You stand for what is right, Lina, without the expectation of gratitude or reward.

Sometimes kindness can be delivered in a clumsy way. But it's far more sincere in its clumsiness than those distinguished men you read about in books. Your father was very clumsy.”"Sometimes there is such beauty in awkwardness. There's love and emotion trying to express itself, but at the time, it just ends up being awkward. Good men are often more practical than pretty . . . . [He] just happens to be both.

They have a baby grand piano, but no one in the family plays. They have shelves of books they've never read, and the tension between the couples was so thick it nearly choked us.

I stared at the enormous homes, the landscaping and flower beds immaculate. It was as if dollar bills, instead of leaves, hung from the trees.

Light fell, and so did my confidence.

No Son [. . .] Not a traitor to your country. Much worse. A traitor to your soul.

Death, it seems, has a mind of its own.

My arm began moving, turning the invisible crank of Death's music box. Somewhere inside, I didn't want the melody to end.

I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself.

We sat and drank in silence. It was something I appreciated about Jesse. He didn't feel the need to fill every moment with talk or some sort of silly exchange.

A guilty conscience is not worth extra food.

We pushed to the edge of recklessness, yet I felt safe.

Per aspera ad astra, Papa,' I whispered. Through hardship to the stars.

He wrapped his arms around me and planted a kiss straight on my lips, hard and long. It felt like I was watching the kiss instead of being inside of it.

Well, I don't know, Lina. But let's just say I've met a lot of dead people.

Tadas was sent to the principal today," announced Jonas at dinner. He wedged a huge piece of sausage into his small mouth."Why?" I asked."Because he talked about hell," sputtered Jonas, juice from the plump sausage dribbling down his chin."Jonas, don't speak with your mouth full. Take smaller pieces," scolded Mother."Sorry," said Jonas with his moth stuffed. "It's good." He finished chewing. I took a bite of sausage. It was warm and the skin was deliciously salty."Tadas told one of the girls that hell is the worst place ever and there's no escape for all eternity.""Now why would Tadas be talking of hell?" asked Papa, reaching for the vegetables."Because his father told him that if Stalin comes to Lithuania, we'll all end up there.

And she didn't judge nobody. She loved everyone equal- accountants, queers, musicians, she welcomed us all, said we were all idiots just the same.

The only reason I'd lift my skirt is to pull a pistol and plug you in the head.

He wanted to know something about me. I leaned over and put my mouth to his ear. It was barely a whisper.'I'm a murderer.

Perhaps tomorrow I would actually put pen to paper.

He threw his burning cigarette onto our clean living room floor and ground it into the wood with his boot.We were about to become cigarettes.

What determines how we remember history and which elements are preserved and penetrate the collective consciousness? If historical novels stir your interest, pursue the facts, history, memories, and personal testimonies available. These are the shoulders that historical fiction sits upon. When the survivors are gone we must not let the truth disappear with them. Please, give them a voice.

But all of the survivors had one thing in common, and that was love. They survived through love. Whether love of friend, love of country, love of God, or even love of enemy—love reveals to us the truly miraculous nature of the human spirit.

I don't want to see no dead body. Willie ain't in there. She put her walkin' shoes on. She gone to see the Lord.

All the little duckies with their heads in the waterHeads in the waterAll the little duckies with their heads in the waterOh, such sweet little duckies.

I was surrounded by hundreds of drowned children, heads in the water, their little feet in the air.All the little duckies, with their heads in the waterHeads in the water.It was my punishment. Honor lost. Everything lost.Shame is a hunter.My shame was all around me now.

We'd be trying to touch the sky from the bottom of the ocean. I realize that if we boosted one another, maybe we'd get a little closer.

I remembered Papa talking about Stalin confiscating peasants' land, tools, and animals. He told them what crops they would produce and how much they would be paid. I thought it was ridiculous. How could Stalin simply take something that didn't belong to him, something that a farmer and his family had worked their whole lives for? "That's communism, Lina," Papa had said.

You stand for what is right, without the expectation of gratitude or reward.

Unless it was Cokie, gifts from men weren't free.

It grey louder. Louder. They were singing, singing at the top of their lungs. Andrius joined, and then my brother and the gray-haired man. And finally, the bald man joined in, singing out national anthem. 'Lithuania, land of heroes...

Jo, they have a baby grand piano, but no one in the family plays. They have shelves of books they've never read, and the tension between the couples was so thick it nearly choked us.""Let me tell you something 'bout those rich Uptown folk," said Cokie. "They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir. My friend Bix was poor. Lord, he had to blow that trumpet ten hours a day just to put a little taste in the pot. Died poor, too. You saw him, Jo, with that plate on his chest. But that man wasn't soul broke.

What if this is a horrible mistake?" I croaked. "Oh, it'll be horrible fine, just a bunch of pretentious rich people with shelves of expensive books they've never read.