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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Torn
Inside
Flames
Words
Crowd
Print
Crowds
Sentences
Waved
Dissolved
Burning
Orange
Paper

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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The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip- the relative you cringe to kiss.
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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.
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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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Because you don't learn anything unless you can find the patience to read. TV takes that away from you. It robs you from your mind.
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But for now, happiness throws stones. It guards itself. I wait.
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I think 'The Lord Of The Rings' is the mother of all cult books, because you can be in that cult and not even know you're in it.
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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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It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.
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I think to be writer you have to enjoy being alone. I was a loner as a teenager and was always drawn to characters in books and films who were at the fringes.
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I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.
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Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
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The nightmares arrived like they always did, much like the best player in the opposition when you've heard rumors that he might be injured or sick-but there he is, warming up with the rest of them, ready to take the field.
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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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I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.
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Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.
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The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
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Living in Sydney, I've taken the chance to start surfing again. One of my best memories of growing up is catching my first proper wave and surfing across it and my brother cheering at me from the shore.
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Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
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