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My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Eye
Measured
Thought
Awake
Trying
Wide
Time
Forward
Like
Stay
Silence
Sleep
Snarls
Eyes
Drops

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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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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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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 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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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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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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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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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 love and hate this place because it is full of words.
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Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.
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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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Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.
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I say, 'Don't lose your heart, Rube.' And very clearly, without moving, my brother answers me. He says, 'I'm not tryin' to lose it, Cam. I'm tryin' to find it.
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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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When death captures me, the boy vowed, he will feel my fist in his face. (31.26)
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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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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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I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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The silence was always the greates temptation.
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The bittersweetness of uncertainty: To win or to lose.
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