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I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Walk
Walks
Fear
Feel
Feels
Fast
Toward

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I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.
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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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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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She was like a lone angel floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
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You cannot be afraid, Read the book. Smile at it. It's a great book-the greatest book you've ever read.
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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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Liesel crossed the bridge over the Amper River. The water was glorious and emerald and rich. She could see the stones at the bottom and hear the familiar song of water. The world did not deserve such a river.
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The commitment had disappeared, and although he still watched the imagined glory of stealing, she could see now he was not believing. He was trying to believe it, and that’s never a good sign.
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The nightmares arrived like they always did, much like the best player in the opposition when you've heard rumors that he might be injured or sick-but there he is, warming up with the rest of them, ready to take the field.
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It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.
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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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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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When a person's last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.
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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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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.
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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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I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
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She was a girl with a mountain to climb.
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