Markus Zusak The Messenger Quotes

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.

It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true--big things are often just small things that are noticed.

Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.

I'd rather chase the sun than wait for it.

You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

My arms are killing me. I didn't know words could be so heavy.

I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.

I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.

Only in today's sick society can a man be persecuted for reading too many books.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

If a guy like you can stand up and do what you did, then maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.

I'm just another stupid human.

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.

All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.

She soon says, "You're my best friend, Ed." You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.

Big things are often just little things that people notice.

My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.

Have you ever noticed that idiots have a lot of friends? It's just an observation.

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 a question. Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.

We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.

I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.

The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.

Why can’t the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn’t care, I finally answer, and I know I’m right. It’s like I’ve been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.

No, I'm not a saint, Sophie. I'm just another stupid human.

It's not the place, I think. It's the people. We'd have all been the same anywhere else.

She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

Ed?" Ritchie says later. We're still standing in the water. "There's only one thing I want." "What's that, Ritchie?" His answer is simple. "To want.

If I ever leave this place- I'll make sure I'm better HERE first.

My full name's Ed Kennedy. I'm nineteen. I'm an underage cab driver. I'm typical of many of the young men you see in this suburban outpost of the city -- not a whole lot of prospects or possibility. That aside, I read more books than I should, and I'm decidedly crap at sex and doing my taxes. Nice to meet you.

What would you do if you were me? Tell me. Please tell me! But you're far from this. Your fingers turn the strangeness of these pages that somehow connect my life to yours. Your eyes are safe. The story is just another few hundred pages of your mind. For me, it's here. It's now. I have to go through with this, considering the cost at every turn. Nothing will be the same.

The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.

She even touches Jimmy's face on the photos, and I see what it is to love someone like Milla loved that man. Her fingertips are made of love.

I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.

You're far from this. This story is just another few hundred pages of your mind.

Our footsteps run, and I don't want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid any awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don't know what to say or what to do.

...and the night is so deep and dark that I wonder if the sun will ever come up.

My heart applauds inside my ears, first like a roaring crowd, then slows and slows until it's a solitary person, clapping with unbridled sarcasm. Clap. Clap. Clap. Well done, Ed. Well given up.

When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.

It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.

I’m Angelina,” she says. “Are you here to save us?” I can see a tiny spark of hope awaken in her eyes. “You’re right, Angelina - I’m here to save you.” “Can you? Really?” “I’ll try,” I say and the girl smiles.

I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.

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.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.

She places her hands around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I can smell the sex on her, and my hope is that she can smell the love on me.

I'd been in love with her for years. I never left this suburban town. I didn't go to university. I went to Audrey.

Already, I know that all of this will stay with me forever. It'll haunt me, but I also fear it will make me feel grateful. I say fear because at times I really don't want this to be a fond memory until it's over. I also fear that nothing really ends at the en. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.

He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.

She let herself love me for three minutes. Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already know the answer. Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.

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.

The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams.

I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.

It's impeccable how brutal the truth can be at times. You can only admire it.

Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.

Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.

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.

That’s when I have to ask him. “Can you really talk like that? Being holy and all?” “What? Because I’m a priest?” He finishes the dregs of his coffee. “Sure. God knows what’s important.

Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

Personally, I think sex should be like math. At school. No one really cares if they're crap at math. They even proclaim it. They'll say to anyone, "Yeah, I don't mind science and English, but I'm absolutely shithouse at math." And other people will laugh and say,"Yeah, me too. I would have a clue about all that logarithm shit. You should be able to say that about sex too. You should be proudly able to say, "Yeah I wouldn't have a clue about all that orgasm shit, ay. I'm okay at everything else but when it comes to that part I wouldn't have a clue.

Warily, she dares to allow me a smile. "It's okay. It's just...I'm not too good at talking to people." She looks away again as her shyness smothers her. "So, do you think it'd be all right if we don't talk?

If I’m ever going to be okay, I’ll have to earn it.

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.

She closes the door completely, and I crouch there. I allow myself to fall forward and rest my head on the door frame. My breath bleeds. My heartbeat drowns my ears.

an expression of surprise falls from her face, though she's trying to keep it. it breaks off and she seems to catch it and fidget with it in her hands.

I'm twenty years old and look at me-- there isn't a thing I want to do

When we move apart, she looks at me again, till a small tear lifts itself up in her eye. It trips out to find a wrinkle and follows it down.

I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

I did it because you are the epitome of ordinariness.

We're silent now, both waiting, till I remind myself that I'm the older one and should therefore initiate conversation. But I don't. I don't want to waste this girl with idle chitchat. She's beautiful.

Quite frankly, so am I, because what I'm about to tell you is a fact. In this country, there is only one thing that can draw a crown without any shadow of a doubt. The answer? Beer. Free beer.

Never leave anything out to dry as the sun comes up for the new year.

But when they laugh, you can see the world in their eyes.

you need life in your life.

There are pieces of me on the ground.

It’s just… I wish it was easier, for me, you know?” I make a special point not to look at her. “I wish it was someone else who was chosen for this. Someone competent. If only I didn’t stop that robbery. I wish I didn’t have to go through with it all.” It comes gushing out, with words like spilled milk. “And I wish it was me with you and not that other guy. I wish it was my own skin touching with yours…” And there you have it. Stupidity in its purest form. “Oh, Ed.” Audrey looks away. “Oh, Ed.” Our feet dangle. I watch them, and I watch the jeans on Audrey’s legs. We only sit there now. Audrey and me. And discomfort. Squeezed in, between us. She soon says, “You’re my best friend, Ed.” “I know.” You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

What I like best is walking with my hands in my pockets, having the Doorman next to me, and imagining that Audrey's on my other side. I always picture us from behind.

It feels like the mornings clap their hands. To make me wake.

I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.

Lua and Marie are holding hands. They look like they’re so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house. Lua kisses her. Just softly on the lips. And she kisses back. Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

I think of how she lives alone, just like me, and how she never had any real family, and how she only has sex with people. She never lets any love get in the way. I think she had a family once, but it was one of those beat-the-crap-out-of-each-other situations. There's no shortage of them around here. I think she loved them, and all they ever did was hurt her.

It's funny how when you watch people from a long distance, it all seems voiceless. It's like watching a silent movie. You guess what people say. You watch their mouths move and imagine the sounds of their feet hitting the ground. You wonder what they're talking about and, even more so, what they might be thinking

I only know it would have been nice to be making love instead of attempting murder.

I see myself beneath her. Being taken and made love to. I feel her. I know her. Taste her champagne mouth. Ignore the ugly teeth. Just shut my eyes and taste her.

My soul needs yours

For a moment, I panic. It's that feeling of falling when you know without question, that you've lost control of your car, or made a mistake that's beyond repair. 'What do I do now?' I ask desperately. 'Tell me! What do I do now?' He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, 'Keep living, Ed... It's only the pages that stop here.

She soon says, “You’re my best friend, Ed.” “I know.” You can kill a man with those words.

When the job’s done, he smacks me on the shoulder and we run off like handsome thieves. We both laugh and run, and the moment is so thick around me that I feel like dropping into it to let it carry me. I love the laughter of this night. Our footsteps run, and I don’t want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid my awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don’t know what to say or what to do. For now, just let us run. We run straight through the laughter of the night.

Christ, it's defeaning. why can't the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn't care, I finally answer, and I know I'm right. It's like I have been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask. The answer's quite simple: To Care.... How do people live like this? How do they survive? And maybe that's why I am here. What if they can't anymore?

Just do me a favor and remember one thing,' he says, and I can see he's trying not to be too typically religious. 'Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.

I suppose he'll die soon. I'm expecting it, like you do for a dog that's seventeen. There's no way to know how I'll react. He'll have faced his own placid death and slipped without a sound inside himself. Mostly, I imagine I'll crouch there at the door, fall onto him, and cry hard into the stench of his fur. I'll wait for him to wake up, but he won't. I'll bury him. I'll carry him outside, feeling his warmth turn to cold as the horizon frays and falls down in my backyard. For now, though, he's okay. I can see him breathing. He just smells like he's dead.

At first, he only continues walking. Only when I look down on our feet do I realize that we're actually going nowhere. It's the world that moves - the streets, the air, and the dark patches of inner sky.

If a guy like you can stand up and do what you did then maybe everyone can. Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of. And that's when I realize: I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.

The Proclaimers thunder through my head. Imagine it. Imagine killing someone to the tune of two Scottish nerds wearing glasses and flattop haircuts. How will I ever listen to that song again? What will I do if it comes on the radio? I'll think of the night I murdered another man and stole his life with my own hands.