Crowds of questions stream through me like lines of people exiting a soccer ground or a concert. They push and shove and trip. Some make their way around. Some remain in their seats, waiting for their opportunity.
("I am the Messenger")
More Quotes from Markus Zusak:No, I'm not a saint, Sophie. I'm just another stupid human.
Of course, I'm being rude. I'm spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story.
After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.
Certainly war meant dying, but it always shifted the ground beneath a person's feet when it was someone who had once lived and breathed in close proximity.
The point is, it didn't really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.
The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.
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If you have the guts to keep making mistakes, your wisdom and intelligence leap forward with huge momentum.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow