Quotes About Longing

I wanted to drown inside a woman in the feeling and drooling of the love I could give her. I wanted her pulse to crush me with its intensity. That's what I wanted. That's what I wanted myself to be.

Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you have finished just to stay near it

Or had she always loved him? It's likely. 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.

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.

I loved you already then.

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.

There was an itchy lung for a last cigarette and an immense, magnetic pull toward the basement, for the girl who was his daughter and was writing a book down there he hoped to read one day. Liesel. His soul whispered it as I carried him. But there was no Liesel in that house. Not for me, anyway.

How about a kiss, Saumensch?

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

Por encima de todo, la ladrona de libros ansiaba volver al sótano a escribir o leer su historia una vez más. Ahora que lo pienso, sin duda se le veía en la cara. Se moría de ganas de reencontrar esa seguridad, ese hogar, pero era incapaz de moverse. Además, el sótano ya no existía. Era parte del paisaje desvastado.

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 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.

My soul needs yours

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.

In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it, all right.

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.

God damn, you were so beautiful, Mama.

Sometimes she sat against the wall, longing for the warm finger of paint to wander just once more down the side of her nose, or to watch the sandpaper texture of her papa's hands. If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter and bread with only the scent of jam spread out on top of it. It was the best time of her life.

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.

Anhelaba volver a la inconsciencia de entonces, a sentir tanto amor sin saberlo y a confundirlo con las risas y el pan untado con poco más que el aroma de la mermelada. Fue la mejor época de su vida. Aunque quedaría sembrada de bombas

Así y todo, ella llora en el porche y yo desearía acercarme y abrazarla. Desearía rescatarla y mecerla entre mis brazos. «¿Cómo puede la gente vivir así?» «¿Cómo consiguen sobrevivir?» Tal vez por eso estoy aquí. Porque ya no pueden.

Cuéntame, Jimmy —dice. El temblor de las manos aumenta—. ¿Dónde has estado todo este tiempo? —Su voz es angustiada pero dulce —. ¿Dónde has estado? Tengo algo atascado en la garganta. Son las palabras. Finalmente las reconozco y digo: —He estado buscándote.

For a good ten minutes or so we stand there with the flashlight burning the grave with light. The whole time, I'm trying to guess where and exactly how he died and, more to the point, realizing that poor old Milla's been without him for sixty-years. I can tell. No other man has entered her life. Not the way her Jimmy did. She's been waiting sixty years for Jimmy to come back. And now he has.