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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.
Markus Zusak
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Markus Zusak
Age: 50
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Southern
Sniff
Lips
Savagery
Air
Bleed
Blood
Noisy
Fear
Hurry
Away
Wipe
Around
Nose
Way
Noses
Gushes
More quotes by Markus Zusak
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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The bombs were coming-and so was I.
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The commitment had disappeared, and although he still watched the imagined glory of stealing, she could see now he was not believing. He was trying to believe it, and that’s never a good sign.
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Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
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Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
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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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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 was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.
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Because you don't learn anything unless you can find the patience to read. TV takes that away from you. It robs you from your mind.
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Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.
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A small fact: You are going to die....does this worry you?
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It's insane to be a writer and not be a reader. When I'm writing I'm more likely to be reading four or five books at once, just in bits and pieces rather than subjecting myself to a really brilliant book and thinking, Well what's the point of me writing anything? I'm more likely to read a book through when I take a break from writing.
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Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
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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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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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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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A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)
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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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...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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