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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Question
Answers
Asks
Dies
Reason
Right
Answer
Always
Dying
Men
Perhaps

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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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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Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.
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The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
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You don't shoot a dog when it is already dead.
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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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Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.
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Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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She was like a lone angel floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness.
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The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.
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The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.
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The best word shakers were the ones who understood the true power of words. They were the ones who could climb the highest. One such word shaker was a small, skinny girl. She was renowned as the best word shaker of her region because she knew how powerless a person could be WITHOUT words.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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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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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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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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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.
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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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They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of souls. Was it fate?Misfortune?Is that what glued them down like that?Of course not.Let's not be stupid.It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown down by humans hiding in the clouds.
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Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
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