THE BOOK THIEF - MARKUS ZUSAK

The Book Thief - Pg 527 THE BOOK THIEF PAGE 42

Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. The accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes. 

The Book Thief - Pg 521

   You bastards, she thought.

   You lovely bastards.

   Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. 

   Because the world does not deserve them.  

 

 

The Book Thief - Pg 521

   She had seen her brother die with one eye open, one still in a dream. She had said goodbye to her mother and imagined her lonely wait for a train back home to oblivion. A woman of wire had laid herself down, her scream traveling the street, till it fell sideways like a  rolling coin starved of momentum. A young man was hung by a rope made of Stalingrad snow. She had watched a bomber pilot die in a metal case. She had seen a Jewish man who had twice given her the most beautiful pages of her life marched to a concentration camp. And at the center of all of it, she saw the Führer shouting his words and passing them around. 

   Those images were the world, and it stewed in her as she sat with the lovely books and their manicured titles. it brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words.  

The Book Thief - Pg 520

Liesel crossed the bridge over the Amper River. The water was glorious and emerald and rich. She could see the stones at the bottom and hear the familiar song of water. The world did not deserve such a river. 

The Book Thief - Pg 518

At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from  speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting. 

The Book Thief - Pg 469

It was Russia, January 5, 1943, and just another icy day. Out among the city and snow, there were dead Russians and Germans everywhere. Those who remained were firing into the blank pages in front of them. Three languages interwove. The Russian, the bullets, the German. 

The Book Thief - Pg 408

He made three separate formations that led to the same tower of dominoes in the middle. Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would all smile at the beauty of destruction. 

The Book Thief - Pg 401 DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #8

Nachtrauern -- Regret: Sorrow filled with longing, disappointment, or loss. 

The Book Thief - Pg 382 DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #4

Wort -- Word: A meaningful unit of language / a promise

The Book Thief - Pg 381

For at least twenty minutes, she handed out the story. The youngest kids were soothed by her voice, and everyone else saw visions of the whistler running from the crime scene. Liesel did not. The book thief saw only the mechanics of the words--their bodies stranded on the paper, beaten down for her to walk on. Somewhere, too, in the gaps between a period and the next capital letter, there was also Max. She remembered reading to him when he was sick. Is he in the basement? she wondered. Or is he stealing a glimpse of the sky again? 

The Book Thief - Pg 381

She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging on to her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside of her. This, it said, is your accordion. The sound of the turning page carved them in half. Liesel read on. 

The Book Thief - Pg 377

"I..." He struggled to answer. "When everything was quiet, I went up to the corridor and the curtain in the living room was open just a crack.... I could see outside. I watched, only for a few seconds." He had not seen the outside world for twenty-two months. There was no anger or reproach. 

It was Papa who spoke.

"How did it look?"

Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment. "There were starts," he said. "They burned my eyes."  

 

 

The Book Thief - Pg 374

She sang a song, but it was so quiet that Liesel could not make it out. The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips. 

The Book Thief - Pg 357

Many times, she wanted to ask her papa if he might teach her to play, but somehow, something always stopped her. Perhaps an unknown intuition told her that she would never be able to play it like Hans Hubermann. Surely, not even the world's greatest accordionists could compare. They could never be equal to the casual concentration on Papa's face. Or there wouldn't be a paintwork-traded cigarette slouched on the player's lips. And they could never make a small mistake with a three-note laugh of hindsight. Not the way he could. 

The Book Thief - Pg 336

By the time I was finished, the sky was yellow, like burning newspaper. If I looked closely, I could see the words, reporting headlines, commentating on the progress of the war and so forth. How I'd have loved to pull it all down, to screw up the newspaper sky and toss it away. My arms ached and I couldn't afford to burn my fingers. There was still so much work to be done. 

The Book Thief - Pg 328

It became her mission. She gave The Dream Carrier to Max as if the words alone could nourish him. 

The Book Thief - Pg 313 CHRISTMAS GREETINGS FROM MAX VANDENBURG

"Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hand." 

The Book Thief - Pg 303

In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them. 

The Book Thief - Pg 259

Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.