The Book Thief

by Markus Zusak

First the colours. Then the humans. That’s usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.

HERE IS A SMALL FACT You are going to die.

Saumensch.

The minutes were cruel. Hours were punishing.

What great malice there could be in allowing something to live.

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.

It kills me sometimes, how people die.

For some reason, dying men always ask questions they know the answer to. Perhaps it’s so they can die being right.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it had been empty.

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.

A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR I am haunted by humans.