Quote

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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Would
Towns
Ashes
Scorched
Time
Tongue
German
Snowflakes
Mouths
Fell
Flung
Lips
Catch
Snowflake
Sky
Town
Cooked
Taste
Red
Devastating
Small
Mouth
Stretch
Home
Apart
Tempted

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It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
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I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
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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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Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.
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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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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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When I was a teenager I decided I was going to be a writer and that nothing was going to stop me. It sounds almost villainous. But I knew that was what I wanted.
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It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
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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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Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.
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Yes, I'm often reminded of her, and in one of my array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt - an immense leap of an attempt - to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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There were not many people who could say that their education had been paid for with cigarettes.
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And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.
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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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It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.
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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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an expression of surprise falls from her face, though she's trying to keep it. it breaks off and she seems to catch it and fidget with it in her hands.
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An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.
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You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
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