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Book: Bridge of Clay
Quotes of Book: Bridge of Clay
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  1. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    ...somewhere in his murkiest depths, he wasn't so much afraid of being left again as condemning someone else to second best.
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  2. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    Sure, she loved horses, she enjoyed racing, but she abhorred the racing business; its wastage, its overbreeding. Its greedy girth of underbelly. It was something like a beautiful whore, and she'd seen it devoid of make-up.
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  3. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    There were great big shrugs of breath of him...
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  4. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    There was the odd suburban thunderbolt, but they were mostly those people who'd found each other; they were golden and bright-lit and funny. Often they seemed in cahoots somehow, like jailbirds who wouldn't leave; they loved us, they us, and that was a pretty good trick.
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  5. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    When it was over, they lay on their backs; there was a window on this, the top floor of the stairwell, and grubby light, and rising-falling chests. The air was heavy. Tons of it, heaping from their lungs. Henry gulped it good and hard, but his mouth showed true heart.
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  6. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    But now those thoughts weren't thoughts at all, they were clouds of landed punches, and every one fell true.
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  7. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    He loved her more than Michelangelo.
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  8. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    She was lost in pine and mountainside, her knuckles bony white."
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  9. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    Around six-thirty, Rory was across the street, leaning against a telegraph pole, smiling just for laughs; the world was filthy, and so was he. After a short search, he pulled a long strand of girls' hair from his mouth. Whoever she was, she was out there somewhere, she lay open-legged in Rory's head. A girl we'll never know, or see.
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  10. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    He was built like a very small supermarket: Compact; expensive if you crossed him.
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  11. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    Each boy stood, slouched yet stiff, hands in pockets. If the dog had pockets, she'd have had her paws in them, too, for sure.
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  12. Markus Zusak _ Bridge of Clay

    The town itself was a hard, distant storyland; you could see it from afar. There was all the straw-like landscape, and marathons of sky. Around it, a wilderness of low scrub and gum trees stood close by, and it was true, it was so damn true: the people sloped and slouched.
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