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
ruins
He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.
girl teenage night
She was a Jew feeder without a question in the world on that man's first night in Molching. She was an arm reacher, deep into a mattress, to deliver a sketchbook to a teenage girl. (84.25)
stories pockets legion
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.
sorry asking sentences
I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking such things...' She let the sentence die its own death
real stories courses
Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
thinking silence despair
If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.
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.
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.