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It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Year
Feel
Feels
Heart
Years
Like
Thirteen
Shouldn
Tired

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An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.
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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.
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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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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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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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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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..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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You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
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As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.
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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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I even move out onto the front porch and see my own limited view of the world. I want to take that world, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can do it. I’ve survived everything I’ve had to so far. I’m still standing here.
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When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.
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To me the question is always this: if a ray of light came out of the sky and said, Your next book will never be published - would you still write it? If the answer is yes, the book is worth writing.
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