Quotes from Markus Zusak

No podía hacer nada contra la atracción que ejercían los libros sobre ella.

For two days I went about my business. I travelled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity.

How many books had she touched? How many had she felt?

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white. She realized her mother had come back for her only when she felt the boniness of a hand on her shoulder. She was being dragged away. A warm scream filled her throat.

Within minutes, mounds of concrete and earth were stacked and piled. The streets were ruptured veins. Blood streamed till it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck there, like driftwood after the flood.

The question is, what colour will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

Papa!" she whispered. "I have no eyes!" He patted the girl's hair. She'd fallen into his trap. "With a smile like that," Hans Hubermann said, "you don't need eyes.

Can a wolfe be beautiful?

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without words, the Fuhrer was nothing.

People observe the colours of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colours.

Our own place is mall perhaps, but when your old man is eaten by his own shadow, you realise that maybe in every house, something so savage and sad and brilliant is standing up, without the world even seeing it. Maybe that's what these pages of words are about: Bringing the world to the window.

The world is an ugly stew, she thought. It's so ugly I can't stand it.

But neither of us knows, because a fight's worth nothing if you know from the beginning that you're going to win. It's the ones in between that test you. They're the ones that bring questions with them.

He was a great horse," she went on, "and the perfect story—we wouldn't love him so much if he'd lived.

She was still clutching the book. She was holding desperately on to the words who had saved her life.

There are pieces of me on the ground.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph

Her wrinkles were like slander. Her voice was akin to a beating with a stick.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking such things...' She let the sentence die its own death

There was an itchy lung for a last cigarette and an immense, magnetic pull toward the basement, for the girl who was his daughter and was writing a book down there he hoped to read one day. Liesel. His soul whispered it as I carried him. But there was no Liesel in that house. Not for me, anyway.

I am stupid. And kind. Which makes the biggest idiot in the world.

Podría presentarme como es debido pero, la verdad, no es necesario. Pronto me conocerás bien, todo depende de una compleja combinación de variables. Por ahora basta con decir que, tarde o temprano, apareceré ante ti con la mayor cordialidad. Tomaré tu alma en mis manos, un color se posará sobre mi hombro y te llevaré conmigo con suma delicadeza.

Just give hime five more minutes and he would surely fall into the German gutter and die. They would all let him, and they would all watch. Then, one human. Hans Hubermann.

Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. Don't forget your misery... In some cases, it grew on them like a vine.