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The flyscreen door slammed behind me. My feet dragged. I reached each arm into the jacket. Warm sleeves. Crumpled collar. Hands in pockets. Okay. I walked.
Markus Zusak
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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Okay
Jacket
Doors
Sleeves
Behinds
Jackets
Arms
Pockets
Crumpled
Behind
Walked
Slammed
Feet
Reached
Collar
Hands
Warm
Dragged
Door
Collars
More quotes by Markus Zusak
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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The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
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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 silence was always the greates temptation.
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The first couple of times, he simply stayed - a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered “Shhh, I’m here, its alright.” After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness.
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It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.
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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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Soon evening worked its way into the sky, and the city hunched itself down.
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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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She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.
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Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
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The conversation of bullets.
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The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .
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They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of souls. Was it fate?Misfortune?Is that what glued them down like that?Of course not.Let's not be stupid.It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown down by humans hiding in the clouds.
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When a person's last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.
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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.
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***A KEY WORD*** Imagined
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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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She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
Markus Zusak
