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The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Looks
Sky
Feel
Alive
Feels
Stars
Like
Lying
Fall
Lost
Upward
Night
Abyss
Look
Falling

More quotes by Markus Zusak

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I s'pose, I can't have it all my own way, can I? You can't drown in a person unless they let you.
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Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.
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Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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I'm asking you, I'm begging you, could you please shut your mouth for just five minutes? You can imagine the reaction. They ended up in the basement.
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As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. That's what she wrote about them . . . Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone to step forward and catch them in their arms. No one did.
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The bombs were coming-and so was I.
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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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Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
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A happening was looming. It was out there somewhere beyond the regular enclosed life that I had been living. It was out there, not waiting, but existing. Being. Perhaps it was only slightly wondering if I would come to it.
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Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.
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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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The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.
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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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I had to decide what I was going to do, and what I was going to be. I was standing there, waiting for someone to do something , till I realised the person I was waiting for was myself.
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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 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 had many boxing matches with my brother in the backyard when we were younger, and I guess while other people abhor boxing for its brutality, I also have to admire anyone who climbs into the ring to face up to what could be the ultimate defeat.
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But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
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There were stars. They burned my eyes.
Markus Zusak