Quotes from Markus Zusak

There was guilt for enjoying anything. Especially the joy of forgetting.

A veces me mata ver cómo muere la gente.

Why do they have windows? Is it to let a glimpse of the world in? Or for us to see out? Our own place is small perhaps, but when your old man is eaten up by his own shadow, you realize maybe that 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.

Los minutos eran crueles. Las horas mortificantes. Durante los momentos de desvelo, sobre él pendía inexorablemente la mano del tiempo, la cual no dudaba en estrujarlo. Le sonreía, lo retorcía y lo dejaba vivir. Qué gran maldad puede encubrir la prolongación de una vida.

He loved her more than Michelangelo.

I didn't know words could be so heavy.

I just want to write someone's favorite book.

Those kids, they would've loved this place, they would've walked and skipped and danced here, all legs and sunny hair. They'd have cartwheeled the lawn, shouting, And don't go lookin' at our knickers, right?

It feels nice to emerge from the lies.

The moon was sewn into the sky that night

I called back, but not loud enough, probably. I don't like making noise in public

I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They're running at me.

There was a kind of generosity to her, of heat and sweat and life.

We grew up together, which is the only reason we're friends. He's actually got a lot of other acquaintances, too, for a few reasons. The first is that he plays soccer in winter and has mates from there. The second and main reason is that he carries on like an idiot. Have you ever noticed that idiots have a lot of friends? It's just an observation.

The Hubbermanns had two of their own (children), but they were older and had moved out...Soon they would be both in the war. One would be making bullets. The other would be shooting them.

The thing is, I don't even hate cops. To tell you the truth, I actually feel a little sorry for them.

Mi única preocupación es que cada vez que he deseado que algo suceda de una manera, ocurre del modo contrario, como si todo estuviera perfectamente diseñado para enfrentarme a lo desconocido.

También me temo que nada finaliza realmente cuando llega el fin. Los recuerdos permanecen mientras son capaces de blandir su espada y encontrar un punto blando en la mente para hacer un tajo y penetrar en ella.

The dangers merged into one. Powder and smoke and the gusty flames. The damaged people. Like the rest of the men in the unit, Hans would need to perfect the act of forgetting.

Then the music begins and we can both hear the slow, quiet, sweet desperation of a song I won't mention. Imagine the softest, toughest, most beautiful song you know, and you've got it.

they watched the humans disappear. They watched them dissolve, like moving tablets in the humid air.

The sky was murky and deep, like quicksand. There was a young man parcelled up in barbed wire, like a crown of thorns. I untangled him and carried him out. High above the earth, we sank together, to our knees. It was just another day, 1918.

When Liesel left that day, she said something with great uneasiness. In translation, two giant words were struggled with, carried on her shoulder and dropped as a bungling pair at Ilsa Hermann's feet. They fell off sideways as the girl veered with them and could no longer sustain their weight. Together, they sat on the floor, large and loud, and clumsy.

Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. Because the world does not deserve them.