Quotes from Markus Zusak

There were stars. They burned my eyes.

They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.

First the colours. Then the humans. That's usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.

Oh, come on, Arthur. I don't want to hear it, Andy. Jesus Christ He doesn't want to hear it, either.

And they would all smile at the beauty of destruction.

Clearly, said Arthur,you're an idiot- but you're our kind of idiot. Come on.

It's not the place, I think. It's the people. We'd have all been the same anywhere else.

After another ten minutes, the gates of thievery would open just a crack, and Liesel Meminger would widen them a little further and squeeze through. ***TWO QUESTIONS*** Would the gates shut behind her? Or would they have the goodwill to let her back out? As Liesel would discover, a good thief requires many things. Stealth. Nerve. Speed. More important than any of those things, however, was one final requirement. Luck. Actually. Forget the ten minutes. The gates open now.

If I ever leave this place- I'll make sure I'm better HERE first.

She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.

After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

Death waits for no man - and if he does, he doesn't usually wait for very long.

The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I'm falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. the accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

Yes, I'm often reminded of her, and in one of my array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt - an immense leap of an attempt - to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.

Ed? Ritchie says later. We're still standing in the water. There's only one thing I want. What's that, Ritchie? His answer is simple. To want.

At first, she could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him?

The bittersweetness of uncertainty: To win or to lose.

It is early, early morning. It's that time when it's still dark but you know the day is coming. Blue is bleeding through black. Stars are dying.

You see, to me, for just a moment, despite all of the colors that touch and grapple with what I see in this world, I will often catch an eclipse when a human dies. I've seen millions of them. I've seen more eclipses than I care to remember

You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. find yourself a mirror while I continue.

The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.

She even touches Jimmy's face on the photos, and I see what it is to love someone like Milla loved that man. Her fingertips are made of love.