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It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
Markus Zusak
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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Glowing
Lights
Small
Bigs
Light
Things
More quotes by Markus Zusak
You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany
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Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man's gentleness, his thereness. (p.36)
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She was a girl with a mountain to climb.
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But for now, happiness throws stones. It guards itself. I wait.
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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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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 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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Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
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It's not the place, I think. It's the people. We'd have all been the same anywhere else.
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Living in Sydney, I've taken the chance to start surfing again. One of my best memories of growing up is catching my first proper wave and surfing across it and my brother cheering at me from the shore.
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People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.
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It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
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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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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.
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THE LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.
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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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Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
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Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.
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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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