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The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Embraced
Refused
Triumph
Decided
Suffering
Point
Make
Succumbed

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Five hundred souls. I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the the children I carried in my arms.
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I had many boxing matches with my brother in the backyard when we were younger, and I guess while other people abhor boxing for its brutality, I also have to admire anyone who climbs into the ring to face up to what could be the ultimate defeat.
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Two weeks to change the world, fourteen days to destroy it.
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Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.
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Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
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I s'pose, I can't have it all my own way, can I? You can't drown in a person unless they let you.
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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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A happening was looming. It was out there somewhere beyond the regular enclosed life that I had been living. It was out there, not waiting, but existing. Being. Perhaps it was only slightly wondering if I would come to it.
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You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things. Liesel watched him as if he'd gone insane. How, though? Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. Memorize it. Then write it down for him.
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I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.
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How do you tell if something's alive? You check for breathing.
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And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.
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Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
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Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
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All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.
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The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.
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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.
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Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.
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How about a kiss, Saumensch?
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