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I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.
Markus Zusak
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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Broke
Glad
Although
Stills
Still
Heart
More quotes by Markus Zusak
The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.
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You don't shoot a dog when it is already dead.
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The flyscreen door slammed behind me. My feet dragged. I reached each arm into the jacket. Warm sleeves. Crumpled collar. Hands in pockets. Okay. I walked.
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I say, 'Don't lose your heart, Rube.' And very clearly, without moving, my brother answers me. He says, 'I'm not tryin' to lose it, Cam. I'm tryin' to find it.
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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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I'd been in love with her for years. I never left this suburban town. I didn't go to university. I went to Audrey.
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You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
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Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.
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I just know that right now, we want to be proud. For once. We want to take the struggle and rise above it. We want to frame it, live it, survive it. We want to put it in our mouths and taste it and never forget it, because it makes us strong.
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I think to be writer you have to enjoy being alone. I was a loner as a teenager and was always drawn to characters in books and films who were at the fringes.
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A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)
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Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.
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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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The bombs were coming-and so was I.
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I love and hate this place because it is full of words.
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She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
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Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.
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We expressed love for this dog by ... knowing without showing that we cared for him.
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