Markus Zusak
Markus Zusak
Markus Frank Zusak,is an Australian writer. He is best known for The Book Thief and The Messenger, two novels for young adults which have been international best-sellers. He won the annual Margaret Edwards Award in 2014 for his contribution to young-adult literature published in the US...
NationalityAustralian
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth23 June 1975
CountryAustralia
moments seems
Things always seem to glide away. They come to you, stay a moment, then leave again.
world overcoming forget-you
There are moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it - when you overcome it and cease to exist as the person you were.
real fall break
You can do anything when it's not real. When it is real, nothing breaks your fall. Nothing gets between you and the ground.
rooftops arms sometimes
Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
love thinking age
It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.
dog
You don't shoot a dog when it is already dead.
beautiful
Can a wolfe be beautiful?
children adults humans
The human child – so much cannier at times than the stupefyingly ponderous adult.
moving eye wrinkles
When we move apart, she looks at me again, till a small tear lifts itself up in her eye. It trips out to find a wrinkle and follows it down.
long faces watches
I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.
night day-and-night feels
The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.
kissing hands waiting
Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
heart
Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.
color feet hands
The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.