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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
Morning
Sheets
Lying
Wake
Step
Back
Outside
Look
Among
Looks
Steps
Dead
Maybe

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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an expression of surprise falls from her face, though she's trying to keep it. it breaks off and she seems to catch it and fidget with it in her hands.
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Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.
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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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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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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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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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It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this.
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I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.
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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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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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Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.
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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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...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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Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
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It’s all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won’t let anyone else do it. That’s when you get your back up and show loyalty.
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I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.
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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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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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I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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Two weeks to change the world, fourteen days to destroy it.
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