Quotes by Markus Zusak

And I can promise you something, because it was a thing I saw many years later - a vision in the book thief herself - that as she knelt next to Hans Hubermann, she watched him stand and play the accordion. He stood and strapped it on in the alps of broken houses and played the accordion with kindness silver eyes and even a cigarette slouched on his lips. The bellows breathed and the tall man played for Liesel Meminger one last time as the sky was slowly taken away from her.

Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.

...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

Thats typically what writers do; we just sit around complaining most of the time. And the better things are going, the more they complain.

You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things. Liesel watched him as if hed gone insane. How, though? Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. Memorize it. Then write it down for him.

For a moment, I debated whether I should tell someone about the words Id started writing down, but I couldnt. In a way, I felt ashamed, even though my writing was the one thing that whispered okayness in my ear. I didnt speak it, to anyone.

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

Its funny, dont you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.

It makes me wonder, Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or forget things? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives? I dont know.

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

My own eyes try to sleep, but they dont. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.

Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will.

As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice.

Best friends one, and now we have almost nothing to say to each other. It was interesting, how he had joined those guys and I just stayed on my own. I didnt like it or dislike it. It was just funny that things had turned out that way.

He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world.She was the book thief without the words.Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.

As always, one of her books was next to her.

My arms are killing me. I didnt know words could be so heavy.

She said it out loud, the words distributed into a room that was full of cold air and books. Books everywhere! Each wall was armed with overcrowded yet immaculate shelving. It was barely possible to see paintwork. There were all different styles and sizes of lettering on the spines of the black, the red, the gray, the every-colored books. It was one of the most beautiful things Liesel Meminger had ever seen.With wonder, she smiled.That such a room existed!

The point is, it didn’t really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.

How does it feel, anyway?How does what feel?When you take one of those books?At that moment, she chose to keep still. If he wants an answer, hed have to come back, and he did. Well? he asked, but again, it was the boy who replied, before Liesel could even open her mouth.It feels good, doesnt it? To steal something back.