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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Looks
Among
Steps
Dead
Maybe
Morning
Sheets
Lying
Wake
Back
Step
Look
Outside

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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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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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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A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT Please, be calm, despite that previous threat. I am all bluster - I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.
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The happening that happened was that I met this girl.
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I am hunted by humans.
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... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.
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How about a kiss, Saumensch?
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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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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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Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.
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I'm having bigger problems when I'm writing.
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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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The point is, Ilsa Hermann had decided to make suffering her triumph. When it refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.
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I love and hate this place because it is full of words.
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I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.
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It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them
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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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There were not many people who could say that their education had been paid for with cigarettes.
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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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Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.
Markus Zusak