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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: 50
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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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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Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.
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I'd been in love with her for years. I never left this suburban town. I didn't go to university. I went to Audrey.
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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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It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them
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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.
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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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I’m Angelina,” she says. “Are you here to save us?” I can see a tiny spark of hope awaken in her eyes. “You’re right, Angelina - I’m here to save you.” “Can you? Really?” “I’ll try,” I say and the girl smiles.
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No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.
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Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
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You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things. Liesel watched him as if he'd gone insane. How, though? Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. Memorize it. Then write it down for him.
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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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It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.
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We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.
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I guess when someone tells you something they they usually guard, you feel privileged, not because you know something no-one else knows, but because you feel chosen. You feel like that person wants her life to intersect with yours. I think that's what felt best about it.
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The scrawled words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept, hand to shoulder. They breathed. German and Jewish lungs.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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