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The commitment had disappeared, and although he still watched the imagined glory of stealing, she could see now he was not believing. He was trying to believe it, and that’s never a good sign.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Commitment
Glory
Disappeared
Stills
Imagined
Still
Watched
Trying
Believing
Believe
Stealing
Good
Sign
Never
Although

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The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.
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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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An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.
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A fighter can be a winner, but that doesn't make a winner a fighter.
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How about a kiss, Saumensch?
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My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
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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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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
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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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I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.
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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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Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
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The happening that happened was that I met this girl.
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When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.
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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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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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Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.
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There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
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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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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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