Quotes from Markus Zusak

The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.

The point is, it didn't really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.

She kept watching the words.

One day, Liesel.' he said, 'you'll be dying to kiss me.

Big things are often just little things that people notice.

I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty and I wonder how the same can be both.

A REASSURING ANNOUNCEMENT Please, be calm, despite that previous threat. I am all bluster - I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.

He stood a few meters from the step and spoke with great conviction, great joy. Alles ist Scheisse, he announced. All is shit.

Don't punish yourself,' she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

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

Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. 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.

What would you do if you were me? Tell me. Please tell me! But you're far from this. Your fingers turn the strangeness of these pages that somehow connect my life to yours. Your eyes are safe. The story is just another few hundred pages of your mind. For me, it's here. It's now. I have to go through with this, considering the cost at every turn. Nothing will be the same.

A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)

She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.

The book thief has struck for the first time – the beginning of an illustrious career.

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces.

She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better. What good were the words? She said it audibly now, to the orange-lit room. What good are the words?

The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .

How does it feel, anyway? How does what feel? When you take one of those books? At that moment, she chose to keep still. If he wants an answer, he'd have to come back, and he did. Well? he asked, but again, it was the boy who replied, before Liesel could even open her mouth. It feels good, doesn't it? To steal something back.

A SMALL THEORY*** People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and its ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

She looks at the swings, and I can see she's imagining what they'd look like if the kids weren't there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?

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.

And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.