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The happening that happened was that I met this girl.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Happenings
Happening
Mets
Happened
Girl

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I am hunted by humans.
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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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I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.
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You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
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She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
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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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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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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.
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When death captures me, the boy vowed, he will feel my fist in his face. (31.26)
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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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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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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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The beauty of my work is that my sets cost nothing. That's what I love about being a writer of novels.
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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 impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip- the relative you cringe to kiss.
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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 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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Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
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Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillage - cold and heavy, slippery and gray - but once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait. Hello, stars.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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