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
hate believe love-hate
Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.
life mean funeral
I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.
smell pages taste
She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
book writing giving
If you ever write a book, I can only give you one piece of advice. Don't let your parents get involved.
bigs big-things small-things
It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true--big things are often just small things that are noticed.
needs students scene
I like to tell students, 'I didn't burst on to the literary scene.' I'm never good at things at the beginning. I was terrible at the start. I need to work and work.
waiting wonder happenings
A happening was looming. It was out there somewhere beyond the regular enclosed life that I had been living. It was out there, not waiting, but existing. Being. Perhaps it was only slightly wondering if I would come to it.
book pages want
I read some books that were the right books for me. I read them and I didn't even notice turning the pages anymore. I thought, "That's what I want to do with my life."
summer book doors
Summer came. For the book thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews. When their bodies had finished scouring for gaps in the door, their souls rose up. When their fingernails had scratched at the wood and in some cases were nailed into it by the sheer force of desperation, their spirits came toward me, into my arms, and we climbed out of those shower facilities, onto the roof and up, into eternity's certain breadth. They just kept feeding me. Minute after minute. Shower after shower.
love heartbreak sadness
He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
mistake heart moon
Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.
real believe book
There are two magic acts I want to pull off when I write. One is creating a feeling that when you're inside a book, you believe everything you're reading even when you know it's not true. And the second is an extension of that, which is you know it's not true, you know it's not real, but you believe it anyway. And it's that believing of the story that isn't real that attracted me to writing and storytelling in general.
boys color hair
... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.
faces coughing streams
It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.