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Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Clouds
Shadow
Sun
Water
Lurked
Like
Forgot
Cloud
Shadows
Holes

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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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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She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
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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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Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.
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It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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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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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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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 a girl with a mountain to climb.
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...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.
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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 orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.
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Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.
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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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His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.
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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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I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.
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I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.
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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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