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No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Many
Abandonment
Unconditional
Recognition
Proof
Told
Loved
Times
Matter

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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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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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.
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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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..As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice.
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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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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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I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.
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It's insane to be a writer and not be a reader. When I'm writing I'm more likely to be reading four or five books at once, just in bits and pieces rather than subjecting myself to a really brilliant book and thinking, Well what's the point of me writing anything? I'm more likely to read a book through when I take a break from writing.
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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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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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They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of souls. Was it fate?Misfortune?Is that what glued them down like that?Of course not.Let's not be stupid.It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown down by humans hiding in the clouds.
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You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things. Liesel watched him as if he'd gone insane. How, though? Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. Memorize it. Then write it down for him.
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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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But for now, happiness throws stones. It guards itself. I wait.
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It is early, early morning. It's that time when it's still dark but you know the day is coming. Blue is bleeding through black. Stars are dying.
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...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.
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I just know that right now, we want to be proud. For once. We want to take the struggle and rise above it. We want to frame it, live it, survive it. We want to put it in our mouths and taste it and never forget it, because it makes us strong.
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I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
Markus Zusak