Markus Zusak, The Book Thief Quotes
Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?
Death waits for no man - and if he does, he doesn't usually wait for very long.
Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.
for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.
A small but noteworthy note. I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me.
The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.
The book thief has struck for the first time – the beginning of an illustrious career.
I actually feel quite self-indulgent at the moment, telling you all about me, me, me.(...) On the other hand, you're a human -you should understand self obsession.
I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair and surprise.
Their heartbeats fought each other, a mess of rhythm. Liesel tried to eat hers down. The taste of heart was not too cheerful.
Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.
Whoever named Himmel Street certainly had a healthy sense of irony. Not that is was a living hell. It wasn't. But is sure as hell wasn't heaven, either.
You might well ask just what the hell he was thinking. The answer is, probably nothing at all.He'd probably say he was exercising his God-given right to stupidity.
The question is, what colour will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?
It's lucky I was there. Then again, who am I kidding? I'm in most places at least once, and in 1943, I was just about everywhere.
It's pathetic how a man can stand by and do nothing as a whole nation cleans out the garbage and makes itself great"-Hans Junior
Well, have you even tried again? You can’t just sit around waiting for the new world to take it with you. You have to go out and be part of it - despite your past mistakes.
When I picked him up originally, the boy's spirit was soft and cold, like ice-cream. He started melting in my arms. Then warming up completely. Healing.
the threat of Jewish competition was taken away, but so were the Jewish customers
a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn.
... none of them had it. They had no qualms about stealing, but they needed to be told. They liked to be told, and Viktor Chemmel liked to be the teller. It was a nice microcosm.
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.
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. - Liesel Meminger
He switched off the light, came back and sat in the chair. In the darkness, Liesel kept her eyes open. She was watching the words.
It's much easier . . . to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time.
DEFINITION NOT FOUND IN THE DICTIONARY Not leaving: an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children
The Hubbermanns had two of their own (children), but they were older and had moved out...Soon they would be both in the war. One would be making bullets. The other would be shooting them.
Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment.'There were stars, ' He said. 'They burned my eyes.’...from a Himmel street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.
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.
The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help.
For two days I went about my business. I travelled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity.
He was the second snowman to be melting away before her eyes, only this one was different. It was a paradox. The colder he became, the more he melted.
The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red.
sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.
I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out.
The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun islike a yellow hole. . .
Papa!” she whispered. “I have no eyes!”He patted the girl’s hair. She’d fallen into his trap. “With a smile like that, ” Hans Hubermann said, “you don’t need eyes.
