Quotes from Markus Zusak

THE BOOK THIEF—LAST LINE I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.

A small, sad hope No-one wanted to bomb Himmel Street. No-one would bomb a place named after heaven, would they? Would they?

and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time.

I look through the old record collection my dad gave me. Stress relief. I shuffle through the albums feverishly and find what I'm looking for-the Proclaimers. I chuck it on and watch it spin. The ridiculous first notes of Five Hundred Miles come on, and I feel like going berserk. Even the Proclaimers are giving me the shits tonight. Their singing's an abomination.

The road was icy as it was, but Rudy put on the extra coat, barely able to contain a grin. It ran across his face like a skid.

Qué he hecho?, no dejaba de musitar. [...] Le hubiera gustado consolarlo, pero nunca había visto a un hombre tan deshecho.

She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Liesel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner, soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth with her fingers.

A mosquito sings in my ear, and I almost feel grateful for the company. I'm even tempted to sing along. It

In the hall, Papa hugged her. She desperately needed it.

There are just people going about what they always do. Talking. Parking crooked.

You want to know what I truly look like? Find yourself a mirror while I continue. -Death

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day. That was the business of hiding a Jew. As

Rosa was sitting with the accordion, praying. 'Make them come back alive,' she repeated. 'Please, Lord, please. All of them.' Even the wrinkles around her eyes were joining hands.

I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope that I am made them right.

Very quickly, very suddenly, words fell through my mind. They landed on the floor of my thoughts, and in there, down there, I started to pick the words up. They were excerpts of truth gather from inside me. Even in the night, in bed, they woke me. They painted themselves onto the ceiling. They burned themselves onto the sheets of memory laid out in my mind. When I woke up the next day, I wrote the words down, on a torn-up piece of paper. And to me, the world changed color that morning.

If you feel like it, come with me. I will tell you a story.

So much good, so much evil. Just add water

Cómo puede quedarse allí sentada dispuesta a morir mientras yo quiero seguir viviendo? [...] ¿Por qué quiero vivir? No debería y, sin embargo, quiero vivir.

impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help.

he had the ability to appear in the background, even if he was standing at the front of a queue.

I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations.

They were going to Dachau, to cencentrate.

Words are life.

I thought you might be too old for such a tale, but maybe no one is.