Quotes from Markus Zusak

A bathrobe answered the door. Inside it, a woman...

Quién estaba allí para tranquilizarlo cuando le arrancaron la alfombra de la vida bajo los pies dormidos?.

The sky was white but deteriorating fast. As always, it was becoming an enormous drop sheet. Blood was bleeding through, and in patches, the clouds were dirty, like footprints in melting snow. Footprints? you ask. Well, I wonder whose those could be.

Sometimes I imagined how everything looked above those clouds, knowing without question that the sun was blond, and the endless atmosphere was a giant blue eye

How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

It feels like the mornings clap their hands. To make me wake.

What I like best is walking with my hands in my pockets, having the Doorman next to me, and imagining that Audrey's on my other side. I always picture us from behind.

The juggling comes to an end now, but the struggling does not. I have Liesel Meminger in one hand, Max Vandenburg in the other. Soon I will clap them together. Just give me a few pages.

He was hanging from one of the rafters in a laundry up near Frau Diller's. Another human pendulum. Another clock, stopped.

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.

Por encima de todo, la ladrona de libros ansiaba volver al sótano a escribir o leer su historia una vez más. Ahora que lo pienso, sin duda se le veía en la cara. Se moría de ganas de reencontrar esa seguridad, ese hogar, pero era incapaz de moverse. Además, el sótano ya no existía. Era parte del paisaje desvastado.

When she faced the noise, she found the mayor's wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.

Say something enough times and you never forget it.

The only people we want to blame are ourselves, because it will be ourselves that we rely upon.

Awkward. That's exactly how it was when we walked over to our sister and stood on each side of her, looking at her and feeling things and not knowing what to do.

In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.

They were frightened, no question, but they were not afraid of me. It was a fear of messing up and having to face themselves again, and facing the world, and the likes of you.

I only know it would have been nice to be making love instead of attempting murder.

I see myself beneath her. Being taken and made love to. I feel her. I know her. Taste her champagne mouth. Ignore the ugly teeth. Just shut my eyes and taste her.

They're brainless girls, otherwise they wouldn't be seen dead here. They're pretty, with ugly, appealing smiles and conversations we can't hear. They breathe smoke and blow it out, and words drop from their mouths and get crushed to the floor. Or they get discarded, just to glow with warmth for a moment, for someone else to tread on later.

He's been to the brink and come back. I guess when you lose your pride, even for just a moment, you realise how much it means to you.

And when we finally stood up and turned to face the world, I could feel something climbing through me. I could feel it on its hands and knees inside me, rising up, rising up - and I smiled. I smiled, thinking, The hunger, because I knew it all too well. The hunger. The desire. Then, slowly, as we walked on, I felt the beauty of it, and I could taste it, like words inside my mouth.

the journey continued like everything had happened.

There was the gate next, which she(Liesel)clung to. A gang of tears trudged from her eyes as she held on and refused to go inside. People started to gather on the street, until Rosa Hubermann swore at them, after which they reversed back whence they came. ~A TRANSLATION OF ROSA HUBERMANN'S ANNOUNCEMENT~ 'What are you arseholes looking at?