Quotes About Loss

In both cases, unfulfilled love results in the total negation of Echo's body and the near negation of her voice.

I've lost this sentence, I can't even finish it, don't know how—

But here it is. All that's left. Incoherent scrap. Too bad so much of his life had to slip between the lines of even his own words.

with very little to remind them of themselves or their past or even their tomorrows . . .

It's too bad. I love her. I wish it didn't have to turn out like this.

If Sorrow is deep regret over someone loved , there is nothing but regret here

reminding him of the years he missed.

I'm losing any sense of who he was, no name, no history, only the awful panic he felt, universal to us all.

All I could hold but in the end not save. Of course I lost everything. I lost her number, I lost her, and then in a fugue of erasure, I lost the memory of her, so that by the time she called she was gone along with the kisses and the promise and all that hope.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

Finally, in October 1945, a man with swampy eyes, feathers of hair, and a clean-shaven face walked into the shop. He approached the counter. Is there someone here by the name of Leisel Meminger? Yes, she's in the back, said Alex. He was hopeful, but he wanted to be sure. May I ask who is calling on her? Leisel came out. They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.

Rudy Steiner was scared of the book theif's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. 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.

Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces.

Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.

Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. the accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.

Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.

20 minutes later: a girl on Himmel Street. She looks up. She speaks in whisper. 'The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds are so soft and sad, and…' She looks away and crosses her arms. She thinks of her papa going to war and grabs her jacket at each side of her body. 'And it's cold, Max. It's so cold…

She slid a book from the shelf and sat with it on the floor. She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words lttered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be ant of this. What good were the words? The book thief stood and waled carefully to the library door.

Rudy Steiner temía el beso de la ladrona de libros. Debía de haberlo deseado con todas sus fuerzas. Debió de haberla querido con todo su corazón. Tanto, que nunca más volvería a pedírselo y se iría a la tumba sin él.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.

You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner. Because the world does not deserve them.

The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.

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.