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And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Looking
Beat
Feel
Legs
Feels
Lips
Heart
Beats
Smile
Touch
Hearts
Sickness
Reach
Hips

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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.
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The first couple of times, he simply stayed - a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered “Shhh, I’m here, its alright.” After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness.
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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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It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
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Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.
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for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.
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When I was a teenager I decided I was going to be a writer and that nothing was going to stop me. It sounds almost villainous. But I knew that was what I wanted.
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Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.
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Even death has a heart.
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I s'pose, I can't have it all my own way, can I? You can't drown in a person unless they let you.
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It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.
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A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)
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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.
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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 want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.
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Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
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You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany
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She was a girl with a mountain to climb.
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As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. That's what she wrote about them . . . Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone to step forward and catch them in their arms. No one did.
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