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She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Feel
Inside
Accordion
Feels
Eyes
Breathed
Eye
Hanging
Voice
Frightened
Words
Onto
Didn
Dare
Look
Notes
Hauled
Looks
Played
Accordions

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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 injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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As a child in Sydney, my German Mum and my Austrian Dad would spontaneously tell me stories about what they saw and what they did as children. It was like a piece of Europe coming into our house... Those stories led me to my writing.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
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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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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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It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them
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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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He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
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A small fact: You are going to die....does this worry you?
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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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How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.
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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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..As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice.
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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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Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.
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A happening was looming. It was out there somewhere beyond the regular enclosed life that I had been living. It was out there, not waiting, but existing. Being. Perhaps it was only slightly wondering if I would come to it.
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Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.
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