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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.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Thought
Book
Notice
Right
Turning
Even
Anymore
Life
Pages
Books
Read
Didn

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The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
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How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.
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It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.
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Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.
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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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An eleven-year-old girl is many things, but she is not stupid.
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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.
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You can't eat books, sweetheart.
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And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.
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for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.
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How do you tell if something's alive? You check for breathing.
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People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.
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If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.
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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's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
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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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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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I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.
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Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
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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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