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If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Oblivious
Laughter
Laughing
Knowing
Without
Feel
Feels
Love
Mistaking

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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I even move out onto the front porch and see my own limited view of the world. I want to take that world, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can do it. I’ve survived everything I’ve had to so far. I’m still standing here.
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for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.
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I like to tell students, 'I didn't burst on to the literary scene.' I'm never good at things at the beginning. I was terrible at the start. I need to work and work.
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Make sure you live,' she said. 'As decent as you can. I know you'll make mistakes, but sometimes you're meant to, okay?
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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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How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.
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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
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They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.
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I read some books that were the right books for me. I read them and I didn't even notice turning the pages anymore. I thought, That's what I want to do with my life.
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It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.
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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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You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
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Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.
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He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.
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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip- the relative you cringe to kiss.
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You might argue that I make the rounds no matter what year it is, but sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.
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When a person's last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.
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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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