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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Years
Things
Eleven
Stupid
Year
Girl
Many

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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I read some books that were the right books for me. I read them and I didn't even notice turning the pages anymore. I thought, That's what I want to do with my life.
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Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clucthing at a book.
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All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.
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Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.
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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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There are moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it - when you overcome it and cease to exist as the person you were.
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It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.
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Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
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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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Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.
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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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I don't really know that this story has a whole lot of things happen in it. It doesn't really. It's just a record of how things were in my life during this last winter. I guess things happened, but nothing out of the ordinary.
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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.
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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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They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.
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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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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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There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
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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.
Markus Zusak