Quote

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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Look
Guilt
Everything
Despite
Momentarily
Nothing
Constantly
Imagining
Looks
Anymore
Swings
Never
Realize
Belongs
Love
Realizing
Appears
Like
Away
Holds
Kids
Weren

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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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It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.
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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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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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How does it feel, anyway? How does what feel? When you take one of those books? At that moment, she chose to keep still. If he wants an answer, he'd have to come back, and he did. Well? he asked, but again, it was the boy who replied, before Liesel could even open her mouth. It feels good, doesn't it? To steal something back.
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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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When I was growing up, I wanted to be a house painter like my father, but I was always screwing up when I went to work with him. I had a talent for knocking over paint and painting myself into corners. I also realized fairly quickly that painting bored me.
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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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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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To me the question is always this: if a ray of light came out of the sky and said, Your next book will never be published - would you still write it? If the answer is yes, the book is worth writing.
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I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.
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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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I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.
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Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.
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Rosa Hubermann was sitting on the edge of the bed with her husband's accordion tied to her chest. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She did not move. She didn't ever appear to be breathing.
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There was once a strange, small man. He decided three important details about his life: 1. He would part his hair from the opposite side to everyone else. 2. He would make himself a small, strange mustache. 3. He would one day rule the world. ...Yes, the Fuhrer decided that he would rule the world with words.
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Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
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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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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
Markus Zusak
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I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.
Markus Zusak