A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.— Markus Zusak
The most courageous Markus Zusak quotes that are guaranted to improve your brain
… it was raining on Himmel Street when the world ended for Liesel Meminger.
The sky was dripping. Like a tap that a child has tried its hardest to turn off but hasn’t quite managed.
Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.
In the basement of 33 Himmel Street, Max Vandenburg could feel the fists of an entire nation. One by one they climbed into the ring to beat him down. They made him bleed. They let him suffer. Millions of them - until one last time, when he gathered himself to his feet.
There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
I have to say that although it broke my heart, I was, and still am, glad I was there.
Please, trust me, I most definitely can be cheerful.
I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.
I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
I guess humans like to watch a little destruction.
Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skills is their capacity to escalate.
No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.
Humans have a talent for escalation. -Death
If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence.
Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.
The conversation of bullets.
Not a beauty queen. Not one of those. You know the ones. She was real.
Goodbye, Papa, you saved me. You taught me to read. No one can play like you. I'll never drink champagne. No one can play like you." -Liesel
The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you.
As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. That's what she wrote about them . . . Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone to step forward and catch them in their arms. No one did.
She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.
Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.
That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere.
It was when my father was a hero and not a human.
The best word shakers were the ones who understood the true power of words.
They were the ones who could climb the highest.
Liesel shrugged away entirely from the crowd and entered the tide of Jews, weaving through them till she grabbed hold of his arm with her left hand. His face fell on her. It reached down as she tripped, and the Jew,the nasty Jew, helped her up. It took all of his strength.
There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.
Winning wasn't natural for me. It had to be fought for, in the echoes and trodden footprints of my mind.
You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.
I even move out onto the front porch and see my own limited view of the world.
I want to take that world, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can do it. I’ve survived everything I’ve had to so far. I’m still standing here.
My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.
I had many boxing matches with my brother in the backyard when we were younger, and I guess while other people abhor boxing for its brutality, I also have to admire anyone who climbs into the ring to face up to what could be the ultimate defeat.
There was the gate next, which she(Liesel)clung to.
A gang of tears trudged from her eyes as she held on and refused to go inside. People started to gather on the street, until Rosa Hubermann swore at them, after which they reversed back whence they came. ~A TRANSLATION OF ROSA HUBERMANN’S ANNOUNCEMENT~ ‘What are you arseholes looking at?
It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow.
Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died.
... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.
You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany
A DEFINITION NOT FOUND IN THE DICTIONARY Not leaving: an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children
People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.
The Germans in basements were pitiable, surely, but at least they had a chance.
That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable.
...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.
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.
What do you want to kiss me for? I'm filthy.'- Liesel So am I.'- Rudy
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)
So I saw that there was only me. There was only me who could worry about what was happening here, inside these walls of my life. Other people had their own worlds to worry about, and in the end, they had to fend for themselves, just like us.
I certainly wasn't born with creative writing.
Maybe there's a certain amount of learning and then it's up to the person. I think in the end it's your favourite books that are the best teachers. That's the way I've learned the most, by far.
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.
Liesel crossed the bridge over the Amper River.
The water was glorious and emerald and rich. She could see the stones at the bottom and hear the familiar song of water. The world did not deserve such a river.
Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red.
The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.
I had to decide what I was going to do, and what I was going to be.
I was standing there, waiting for someone to do something , till I realised the person I was waiting for was myself.
You'll have days of complete lack of faith in your abilities.
But you have to keep coming back. That's when you know you're a writer - when you take the failures and appear at the desk again, over and over again.
Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion.
When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.