The Book Thief

by Markus Zusak

I would watch the places where we intersect, and marvel at what the girl saw and how she survived.

The book thief and her brother were traveling down toward Munich, where they would soon be given over to foster parents. We now know, of course, that the boy didn’t make it.

What terrible tragedy so young

The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip—the relative you cringe to kiss.

When she came to write her story, she would wonder exactly when the books and the words started to mean not just something, but everything.

But she did love Liesel Meminger. Her way of showing it just happened to be strange. It involved bashing her with wooden spoon and words at various intervals.

I would not call this love

The point is, it didn’t really matter what that book was about. It was what it meant that was more important. THE BOOK’S MEANING 1. The last time she saw her brother. 2. The last time she saw her mother.

It’s much easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.

is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear?

Even death has a heart.

I shiver when I remember—as I try to de-realize it. I blow warm air into my hands, to heat them up. But it’s hard to keep them warm when the souls still shiver.

War clearly blurred the distinction between logic and superstition.

On their way up the stairs, the children rushed by her, but many of the older people—even Frau Holtzapfel, even Pfiffikus (how appropriate, considering the title she read from)—thanked the girl for the distraction. They did so as they made their way past and hurried from the house to see if Himmel Street had sustained any damage.

Reading brings people together in the toughest of times, providing comfort and community during a time where both ard so difficult to find

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 were empty.

Stealing is what the army does. Taking your father, and mine.”

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

there would be happiness, too. That was writing.