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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Much
Fields
Rumor
Always
Rest
Injured
Like
Player
Arrived
Ready
Warming
Heard
Nightmare
Best
Opposition
Might
Field
Rumors
Take
Sick
Nightmares

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You can do anything when it's not real. When it is real, nothing breaks your fall. Nothing gets between you and the ground.
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...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.
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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 conversation of bullets.
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There were stars. They burned my eyes.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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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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The flyscreen door slammed behind me. My feet dragged. I reached each arm into the jacket. Warm sleeves. Crumpled collar. Hands in pockets. Okay. I walked.
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The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.
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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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I think to be writer you have to enjoy being alone. I was a loner as a teenager and was always drawn to characters in books and films who were at the fringes.
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I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.
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I say, 'Don't lose your heart, Rube.' And very clearly, without moving, my brother answers me. He says, 'I'm not tryin' to lose it, Cam. I'm tryin' to find it.
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He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.
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It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.
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The first couple of times, he simply stayed - a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered “Shhh, I’m here, its alright.” After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness.
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I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.
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As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. That's what she wrote about them . . . Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone to step forward and catch them in their arms. No one did.
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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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The bombs were coming-and so was I.
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