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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Little
Basements
Presents
Christmas
Beginning
Food
Greatest
Littles
Snowman
Ever
Basement

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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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I had to decide what I was going to do, and what I was going to be. I was standing there, waiting for someone to do something , till I realised the person I was waiting for was myself.
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I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
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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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Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.
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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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It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.
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Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
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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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No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.
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The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .
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But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
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There was once a strange, small man. He decided three important details about his life: 1. He would part his hair from the opposite side to everyone else. 2. He would make himself a small, strange mustache. 3. He would one day rule the world. ...Yes, the Fuhrer decided that he would rule the world with words.
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Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.
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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.
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Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.
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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
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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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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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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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