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They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Seconds
Thirty
Standing
Forever
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When death captures me, the boy vowed, he will feel my fist in his face. (31.26)
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The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
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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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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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If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.
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The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
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The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you.
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I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.
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The silence was always the greates temptation.
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Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.
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Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.
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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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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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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.
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Liesel shrugged away entirely from the crowd and entered the tide of Jews, weaving through them till she grabbed hold of his arm with her left hand. His face fell on her. It reached down as she tripped, and the Jew,the nasty Jew, helped her up. It took all of his strength.
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I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.
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Make sure you live,' she said. 'As decent as you can. I know you'll make mistakes, but sometimes you're meant to, okay?
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I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.
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She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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