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
child gem love page playing
I like the idea that every page in every book can have a gem on it. It's probably what I love most about writing - that words can be used in a way that's like a child playing in a sandpit, rearranging things, swapping them around.
black-and-white feet pages
At first, all is black and white. Black on white. That's where I'm walking, through pages. These pages. Sometimes it gets so that I have one foot in the pages and the words, and the other in what they speak of.
mind pages stories
You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.
smell pages taste
She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
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."
writing pages fists
Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.
trying firsts colour
First the colours. Then the humans. That’s usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.
humans
I am haunted by humans.
books books-and-reading step teenage
So many teenage books say, 'This is in your voice, this is about you,' and that's great. We really need that. But we also need books that say, 'This is also for you, but you need to come up here, to step up to this.
running winning years
He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.
two world week
Two weeks to change the world, fourteen days to destroy it.
voice not-sure rumours
My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.
dog fall doors
I suppose he'll die soon. I'm expecting it, like you do for a dog that's seventeen. There's no way to know how I'll react. He'll have faced his own placid death and slipped without a sound inside himself. Mostly, I imagine I'll crouch there at the door, fall onto him, and cry hard into the stench of his fur. I'll wait for him to wake up, but he won't. I'll bury him. I'll carry him outside, feeling his warmth turn to cold as the horizon frays and falls down in my backyard. For now, though, he's okay. I can see him breathing. He just smells like he's dead.
running laughing moments
We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.