Quotes from Markus Zusak

Something I'd like to be perfect at? ... Loving you,' I said. The words climbed from my mouth. 'I'd want to be perfect at loving you.

The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips.

I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.

I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.

Is there cowardice with the acknowledgement of fear?

She laughed and he felt her breath, and he thought about that warmness, how people were warm like that, from inside to out; how it could hit you and disappear, then back again, and nothing was ever permanent--

One wild card was yet to be played.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.

It's impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it.

Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

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.

That's when I have to ask him. "Can you really talk like that? Being holy and all?" "What? Because I'm a priest?" He finishes the dregs of his coffee. "Sure. God knows what's important.

Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.

I stood there and stared, into the sky and at the city around me. I stood, hands at my side, and I saw what had happened to me and who I was and the way things would always be for me. Truth. There was no more wishing, or wondering. I knew who I was, and what I would always do. I believed it, as my teeth touched and my eyes were overrun.

Había una vez un hombre bajito y extraño que decidió tres cosas importantes acerca de su vida: 1. Que se haría la raya del pelo en el lado contrario a todos los demás. 2. Que se dejaría un pequeño y extraño bigote. 3. Que un día dominaría el mundo.

Liesel crossed the bridge over the Amper River. The water was glorious and emerald and rich. She could see the stones at the bottom and hear the familiar song of water. The world did not deserve such a river.

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

Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.

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.

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.

It was a Sunday, an arsonist sunrise.

His soul sat up. It met me.Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say, 'I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go of course, but I will come'.