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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Best
Across
Cheering
Firsts
Brother
Sydney
First
Memories
Surfing
Growing
Catching
Taken
Cheer
Start
Shore
Chance
Proper
Living
Wave

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The beauty of my work is that my sets cost nothing. That's what I love about being a writer of novels.
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We expressed love for this dog by ... knowing without showing that we cared for him.
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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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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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You might argue that I make the rounds no matter what year it is, but sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.
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You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
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I like to tell students, 'I didn't burst on to the literary scene.' I'm never good at things at the beginning. I was terrible at the start. I need to work and work.
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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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He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.
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The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.
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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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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.
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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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You can do anything when it's not real. When it is real, nothing breaks your fall. Nothing gets between you and the ground.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.
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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.
Markus Zusak
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They say that war is death's best friend, but I must offer you a different point of view on that one. To me, war is like the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thin, incessantly: 'Get it done, get it done.' So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.
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… it was raining on Himmel Street when the world ended for Liesel Meminger. The sky was dripping. Like a tap that a child has tried its hardest to turn off but hasn’t quite managed.
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