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Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Going
Jew
Sky
Summer
Color
Books
Nicely
Came
Thief
Everything
Thieves
Book
Jews

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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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I'm asking you, I'm begging you, could you please shut your mouth for just five minutes? You can imagine the reaction. They ended up in the basement.
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Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.
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I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.
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Please, trust me, I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
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There are moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it - when you overcome it and cease to exist as the person you were.
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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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An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.
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Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.
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I certainly wasn't born with creative writing. Maybe there's a certain amount of learning and then it's up to the person. I think in the end it's your favourite books that are the best teachers. That's the way I've learned the most, by far.
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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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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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They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.
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I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.
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She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
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We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.
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July 24, 6:03 A.M. The laundry was warm and the rafters were firm, and Michael Holzapfel jumped from the chair as if it were a cliff... Michael Holzapfel knew what he was doing. He killed himself for wanting to live.
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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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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
Markus Zusak