Markus Zusak Quotes - Page 9

Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.

A small fact: You are going to die....does this worry you?

Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.

Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.

for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.

THE LAST WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG: You've done enough.

My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.

We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.

She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.

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.

In the basement of 33 Himmel Street, Max Vandenburg could feel the fists of an entire nation. One by one they climbed into the ring to beat him down. They made him bleed. They let him suffer. Millions of them - until one last time, when he gathered himself to his feet.

I'm asking you, I'm begging you, could you please shut your mouth for just five minutes?" You can imagine the reaction. They ended up in the basement.

He was waving. "Saukerl," she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that's as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.

There were stars. They burned my eyes.

It's not so much that the old friend is a better friend. It's just that you know the person better, and you know they don't really care if you're acting like a poor, grovelling idiot. They know you would do the same for them.

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.

Possibly the only good to come out of these nightmares was that it brought Hans Hubermann, her new papa, into the room, to soothe her, to love her. He came every night and sat with her. 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, it's all right." After three weeks he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man's gentleness, his thereness. The girl knew from the outset that Hans Hubermann would always appear midscream, and he would not leave. (36)

So I saw that there was only me. There was only me who could worry about what was happening here, inside these walls of my life. Other people had their own worlds to worry about, and in the end, they had to fend for themselves, just like us.

Better that we leave the paint behind," Hans told her, "than ever forget the music.

in the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears.

Not a beauty queen. Not one of those. You know the ones. She was real.

I don't write poetry or short stories. I don't like to write articles usually. I tend to really only want to be focused on writing novels. It's one of the real advantages I've had over the years. I've only been good at one thing. It helps to be limited.

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.

I looked at myself in that window, oblivious to all the people around me and I stared and smiled that particular smile. You know that smile that seems to knock you and tell you how pathetic you are? That's the smile I was smiling.

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.