Quotes About Passion

Puedo oler el sexo en ella, y solo deseo que ella pueda oler el amor en mí.

El anciano se enderezó y empezó a insultarlos con un fervor

Devi capire una cosa, Ed.» «Cosa?» E poi, cauta, lo dice: «Che tu ci creda o no… bisogna provare un amore profondo per odiarti come ti odio io». Tento di comprendere.

Believe it or not - it takes a lot of love to hate you.

Die Noten wurden in ihrem Atem geboren und starben auf ihren Lippen.

I wonder if she'll ever know that no one will love her as hard as I do.

It take a lot of love to hate like this

Hay algo peor que un chico que te odie? Un chico que te quiera.

Statues with beating hearts.

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.

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.

Le hablas de mí? Liesel no pudo responder enseguida. Tal vez fue la súbita sacudida amorosa que sintió por él. ¿O había sido así siempre? Era probable. Privada del habla, deseó que la besara, que la agarrara de la mano y la atrajera hacia él. No importaba dónde. En la boca, en el cuello, en la mejilla. Tenía toda la piel libre para él, a la espera.

Diese Bilder waren die Welt, und es brodelte in ihr, während sie inmitten der schönen Bücher mit ihren manikürten Titeln saß. Es kochte in ihr, während sie die Seiten anschaute, die bis zum Erbrechen voll mit Absätzen und Worten waren. Ihr Mistkerle, dachte sie. Ihr geliebten Mistkerle.

Do you still play the accordian?

It takes a lot of love to hate you like this.

The only thing worse than a boy who hates you; a boy who loves you.

Usually, if an idea keeps calling you back, it's the right one

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 only think worse than a boy who hates you; a boy who loves you.

Something worse than a boy who hates you: a boy who loves you.

When she drinks the coffee I made, I look at the redness of her lips and wish I could just stand up, walk over, and kiss them. I want to feel the flesh of them and the softness against my own. I want to breathe in her and with her. I want to be able to put my teeth to her neck and have my fingers touch her back and run them through the lovely, mild yellow color of her hair.

Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this

Her blood loudened.

Todavía toca el acordeón?