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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
Glory
Disappeared
Stills
Imagined
Still
Watched
Trying
Believing
Believe
Stealing
Good
Sign
Never
Although
Commitment

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I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
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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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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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When a person's last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.
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Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
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A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)
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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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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 LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.
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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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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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I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.
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I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.
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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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A fighter can be a winner, but that doesn't make a winner a fighter.
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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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