Quotes About Longing

I miss him, and the pain of it is a yawning chasm, one into which I yearn to let myself fall.

What she did know was that normal was a lot more tempting when it was out of reach.

I promised myself I would do this, if I ever had the chance again. I promised I would do this the first moment I could. "I love you," I say

I consider kissing her right there on the dirty couch, but self-preservation stops me. Once someone hurts you, it's harder to relax around them, harder to think of them as safe to love. But it doesn't stop you wanting them. Sometimes I actually think it makes the wanting worse

When his eyes meet mine, desire, as keen as any blade, bends the air between us. The moment slows. I want to bite his lip. To feel the heat of his skin. To slide my hands beneath his armor and trace the map of his scars.

what I want to do is hide under a table in the brugh with Cardan until I can finally convince myself he's all right. And maybe make out with his face, if he's feeling up to that

To Ben, love was the flame in which he wanted to be reborn. He wanted to be remade by it.

There is something of yours that i would like to return to you . . . He leaned across the distance between them and caught her mouth with his own.

Sometimes I go down and stare at it, trying to see my parents in the tide lines of dried blood. I want to feel something, something besides a vague queasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.

I hope Cardan misses me. page 225

There are no words for how much I will miss her, but I try to kiss her so that she'll know. I try to kiss her to tell her the whole story of my love, the way I dreamed of her when she was dead, the way that every other girl seemed like a mirror that showed me her face. The way my skin ached for her. The way that kissing her made me feel like I was drowning and like I was being saved all at the same time. I hope she can taste all that, bittersweet, on my tongue.

I don't have the words. I want to touch her, but I don't deserve it.

Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must. Just come home. Cardan

Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones.

But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.

I've loved you from the first hour of our meeting. I loved you and despaired. Before I die, I want you to know that.

But even with distance between us, the longing to touch him persists

I feel a little pummelled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

I hate you because I think of you. Often. It's disgusting, and I can't stop.

kiss me again," He says ,drunk and foolish "kiss me until iam sick of it" "if you're the sickness , i suppose you cant also be the cure.

What I want is him back, him standing beside me, him laughing at all this. I would settle for even his worst self, his cruellest trickster self, if only he could be here.

It turns out that having kissed someone, the possibility of kissing hangs over everything, no matter how terrible an idea it was the first time. The memory of his mouth on mine shimmers in the air between us.

Once someone's hurt you, it's harder to relax around them, harder to think of them as safe to love. But it doesn't stop you from wanting them. Sometimes I actually think it makes the wanting worse.

Once, Lila Zacharov was in love with a boy with hair as black as spilled ink and eyes as dark as coffee. She would trace his name on her skin, over and over, write it in the condensation of her breath on panes of glass, scrawl it on the bottoms of her feet with the tip of her nail, like she was casting a spell.