#thief

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26) ↗

— Markus Zusak

#death

You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. find yourself a mirror while I continue. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#death

Harvey wasn't interested in the clothes, it was the masks that mesmerized him. They were like snowflakes: no two alike. Some were made of wood and of plastic; some of straw and cloth and papier-mâché. Some were as bright as parrots, others as pale as parchment. Some were so grotesque he was certain they'd been carved by crazy people; others so perfect they looked like the death masks of angels. There were masks of clowns and foxes, masks like skulls decorated with real teeth, and one with carved flames instead of hair. ↗

— Clive Barker

#barker #clive #halloween #harvey #hood

I am hunted by humans ↗

— Markus Zusak

#markus-zusak #the-book-thief #death

Death has come to cut your throats and drink your blood! ↗

— Brom

#the-child-thief #death

Newt Gingrich, buddy, the people of the United States don’t like you. And the only reason the rest of the world doesn’t despise you is because they don’t know you. Thankfully you won’t have to experience that global derision, as you have reached the pinnacle of your career as a crook—I mean politician. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#corruption #creep #crook #crooked #despise

There was no sound, but she felt a movement, a shifting of the air in her room, the warmth of another presence. Isabel opened her eyes. He was there, at the foot of her bed, a single candle in his hand, dressed only in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches. “Forgive me,” he whispered as he set the candle down. “I could not stay away. ↗

— Elizabeth Hoyt

#isabel #thief-of-shadows #winter #forgiveness

She stood up and took the book from him, and as he smiled over his shoulder at some other kids, she threw it away and kicked him as hard as she could in the vicinity of the groin. Well, as you might imagine, Ludwig Schmeikl certainly buckled, and on the way down, he was punched in the ear. When he landed, he was set upon. When he was set upon, he was slapped and clawed and obliterated by a girl who was utterly consumed with rage. His skin was so warm and soft. Her knuckles and fingernails were so frighteningly tough, despite their smallness. You Saukerl." Her voice, too, was able to scratch him. "You Arschloch. Can you spell Arschloch for me? ↗

— Markus Zusak

#fight #thief #imagination

The Germans in basements were pitiable, surely, but at least they had a chance. That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#life

Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?" 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. Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death. Of course I told him about you," Liesel said. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#thief #death