Quotes About Desire

Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.

In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief's kiss. 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 feels like spoken words, this bridge. I want it but fear it. God, I want so desperately to reach the other side - just like I want the words. I want my words to build bridges strong enough to walk on. I want them to tower over the world so I can stand up on them and walk to the other side.

You hungry?' Rudy asked. Liesel replied, 'Starving.' For a book.

I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

You ever hear a dog cry, Steve? You know, howling so loud it's almost unbearable?' He nodded. 'I reckon they howl like that because they're so hungry it hurts, and that's what I feel in me every day of my life. I'm so hungry to be somethin' - to be somebody. You hear me?' He did. 'I'm not lyin' down ever. Not for you. Not for anyone.' I ended it. 'I'm hungry, Steve.' Sometimes I think they're the best words I've ever said. 'I'm hungry.

How about a kiss, Saumensch?

When you wait you start feeling deserved.

Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.

How'd it feel? Rube asked himself. I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. 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.

I only know it would have been nice to be making love instead of attempting murder.

I see myself beneath her. Being taken and made love to. I feel her. I know her. Taste her champagne mouth. Ignore the ugly teeth. Just shut my eyes and taste her.

And when we finally stood up and turned to face the world, I could feel something climbing through me. I could feel it on its hands and knees inside me, rising up, rising up - and I smiled. I smiled, thinking, The hunger, because I knew it all too well. The hunger. The desire. Then, slowly, as we walked on, I felt the beauty of it, and I could taste it, like words inside my mouth.

My soul needs yours

Her heart at that point was slippery and hot, and loud, so loud so loud.

Mi única preocupación es que cada vez que he deseado que algo suceda de una manera, ocurre del modo contrario, como si todo estuviera perfectamente diseñado para enfrentarme a lo desconocido.

I'd wanted to stay on that porch with him until the sun shone bright on both of us, but I didn't. I stood up and walked down the steps. I'd rather chase the sun than wait for it.

I wish I could hold up that knife and tear open the world. I'd slice it open and climb through to the next one.

Is this yours?' 'Yes, Papa.' 'Do you want to read it?' Again, 'Yes, Papa.' A tired smile. Metallic eyes, melting. 'Well we'd better read it then.

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.

I tell me: Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful. I want these words to be actions. Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night.

I've come to the realization that I really only want to write books that maybe I can't write.

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