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Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Would
Grief
Like
Walk
Steps
Walks
Wish
Snowman
Often
Basement
Hands
Basements
Something
Somehow

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There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
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It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
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She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.
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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
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Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.
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You see, to me, for just a moment, despite all of the colors that touch and grapple with what I see in this world, I will often catch an eclipse when a human dies. I've seen millions of them. I've seen more eclipses than I care to remember
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THE LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.
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Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.
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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
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There were not many people who could say that their education had been paid for with cigarettes.
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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.
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...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.
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His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.
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Yes, I'm often reminded of her, and in one of my array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt - an immense leap of an attempt - to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.
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The first couple of times, he simply stayed - a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered “Shhh, I’m here, its alright.” After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness.
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Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
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