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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Leave
Told
Forget
Music
Better
Hans
Ever
Paint
Behinds
Behind

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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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The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you.
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You cannot be afraid, Read the book. Smile at it. It's a great book-the greatest book you've ever read.
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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.
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Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.
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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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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'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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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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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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Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.
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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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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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Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.
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... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.
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As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.
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Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
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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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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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