Markus Zusak

When I recollect her, I see a long list of colors, but it's the three in which I saw her in the flesh that resonate the most. Sometimes I manage to float far above those three moments. I hang suspended, until a septic truth bleeds toward clarity. That's when I see them formulate: THE COLORS RED: [rectangle] WHITE: [circle] BLACK: [swastika] They fall on top of each other. The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red.

She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it.

When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.

In years to come, he would be a giver of bread, not a stealer - proof again of the contradictory human being. So much good, so much evil. Just add water.

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

Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.

Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.

The book thief has struck for the first time – the beginning of an illustrious career.

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

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!

But neither of us knows, because a fight's worth nothing if you know from the start that you're going to win it.

She gave 'The Dream Carrier' to Max as if words alone could nourish him.