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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: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Without
Feel
Feels
Love
Mistaking
Oblivious
Laughter
Laughing
Knowing

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The nightmares arrived like they always did, much like the best player in the opposition when you've heard rumors that he might be injured or sick-but there he is, warming up with the rest of them, ready to take the field.
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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
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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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Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.
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She was a girl with a mountain to climb.
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Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillage - cold and heavy, slippery and gray - but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait. Hello, stars.
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Liesel crossed the bridge over the Amper River. The water was glorious and emerald and rich. She could see the stones at the bottom and hear the familiar song of water. The world did not deserve such a river.
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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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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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Liesel shrugged away entirely from the crowd and entered the tide of Jews, weaving through them till she grabbed hold of his arm with her left hand. His face fell on her. It reached down as she tripped, and the Jew,the nasty Jew, helped her up. It took all of his strength.
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The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
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Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
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I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.
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Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.
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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
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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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There were stars. They burned my eyes.
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The beauty of my work is that my sets cost nothing. That's what I love about being a writer of novels.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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