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I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Watch
Rest
Turn
Beauty
Face
Turns
Faces
Long
Watches

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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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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You see, to me, for just a moment, despite all of the colors that touch and grapple with what I see in this world, I will often catch an eclipse when a human dies. I've seen millions of them. I've seen more eclipses than I care to remember
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The flyscreen door slammed behind me. My feet dragged. I reached each arm into the jacket. Warm sleeves. Crumpled collar. Hands in pockets. Okay. I walked.
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I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.
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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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You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
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I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.
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For a moment, I panic. It's that feeling of falling when you know without question, that you've lost control of your car, or made a mistake that's beyond repair. 'What do I do now?' I ask desperately. 'Tell me! What do I do now?' He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, 'Keep living, Ed... It's only the pages that stop here.
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Five hundred souls. I carried them in my fingers, like suitcases. Or I'd throw them over my shoulder. It was only the the children I carried in my arms.
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The bittersweetness of uncertainty: To win or to lose.
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It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.
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I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.
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The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.
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I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.
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Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.
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I thought what if death is more like thinking, well, war is like the boss at your shoulder, constantly wanting more, wanting more, wanting more, and then that gave me the idea that Death is weary, he's fatigued, and he's haunted by what he sees humans do to each other because he's on hand for all of our great miseries.
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She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.
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