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The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Book
Landed
Tattoo
Chest
Chests
Table
Tables
Paper
News

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The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .
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Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man's gentleness, his thereness. (p.36)
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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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I guess when someone tells you something they they usually guard, you feel privileged, not because you know something no-one else knows, but because you feel chosen. You feel like that person wants her life to intersect with yours. I think that's what felt best about 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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Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.
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We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.
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I don't really know that this story has a whole lot of things happen in it. It doesn't really. It's just a record of how things were in my life during this last winter. I guess things happened, but nothing out of the ordinary.
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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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I’m Angelina,” she says. “Are you here to save us?” I can see a tiny spark of hope awaken in her eyes. “You’re right, Angelina - I’m here to save you.” “Can you? Really?” “I’ll try,” I say and the girl smiles.
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Soon evening worked its way into the sky, and the city hunched itself down.
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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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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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Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
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If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.
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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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As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.
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You might argue that I make the rounds no matter what year it is, but sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.
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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.
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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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