My soul needs yours.
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Markus Zusak
Markus Frank Zusak (born 23 June 1975) is an Australian writer. He is best known for The Book Thief and The Messenger (US title, I Am the Messenger), two novels for young adults which have been international best-sellers. He won the annual Margaret A. Edwards Award in 2014 for his contributions to young-adult literature published in the US. 2Life and career Zusak was born in Sydney, Australia. His mother Lisa is originally from Germany and his father Helmut is from Austria. They emigrated to Australia in the late 1950s. Markus is the youngest of four children and has two sisters and one brother. He attended Engadine High School and briefly returned there to teach English while writing. He studied English and History at the University of New South Wales, and graduated with a Bachelor of Arts and a Diploma of Education. Zusak is the author of six books. His first three books, The Underdog, Fighting Ruben Wolfe and When Dogs Cry, released between 1999 and 2001, were all published internationally and garnered a number of award
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.
Believe it or not–it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.
Big things are often just little things that people notice.
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.
It’s impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it. Usually, we walk around constantly believing ourselves. I’m okay, we say. I’m alright. But sometimes the truth arrives on you, and you can’t get it off. That’s when you realize that sometimes it isn’t even an answer - it’s…
Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.
If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter...
If your eyes could speak, what would they say?
Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you’ve finished just to stay near it.
...and they would all smile at the beauty of destruction.
The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips.
She was saying goodbye and she didn’t even know it.
Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you’ve finished just to stay near it.
My heart is so tired.
That’s the beauty of books. In so many ways, they never really end.
I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.