Libba Bray Quotes

And yet he had loved her. A Bookish girl heedless of her beauty, unconscious of her effect. She'd been prepared to live her life alone but from the moment he'd known her he'd needed her.

All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.

All I want is moonlight, with you there inside of me, all night, doing it again and again. You know I want you so bad.

I wonder if you can understand, I never really knew what it was to want, until you.

He was in my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my heart. I day-dreamed about what he was doing, thinking, seeing, smelling, feeling. I could not eat for thoughts of him.

What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes

By my soul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep; nor, what's still worse, love any woman in the world but her.

Don't you see what's happened? You wanted to be in love again. To feel that feeling where a man you hardly know gazes into your eyes and seems to be the only human being who ever understood the real you.

All my life I have dreamed of you.

The sweetest thing I've ever known was like the kiss on the collarbone, the soft caress of happiness, the way you walk, your style of dress, I wish I didn't get so weak, oh baby just to hear you speak, makes me argue just to see how much your in love with me

Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.

I can’t think. I can’t work or sleep. My body aches for you. I can make you want me again. Let me try.

I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.

Before you, I believed love was making love. Waiting only makes me love you more.

Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.

And she loved a man who was made out of nothing. A few hours without him and right away she’d be missing him with her whole body, sitting in her office surrounded by polyethylene and concrete and thinking of him. And every time she’d boil water for coffee in her ground-floor office, she’d let the steam cover her face, imagining it was him stroking her cheeks, her eyelids and she’d wait for the day to be over, so she could go to her apartment building, climb the flight of stairs, turn the key in the door, and find him waiting for her, naked and still between the sheets of her empty bed.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him. At night I dream of him, all day I wait to see him, and when I do see him my heart turns over and I think I will faint with desire.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

At night, when I am alone, I call for you, and whenever my ache seems to be the greatest, you still seem to find a way to return to me.

... i didn't fall in love of course it's never up to you but she was walking back and forth and i was passing through

Love—the desire to love and be loved, to hold and be held, to give love even if your experience as a recipient has been compromised or incomplete—is the constant on the continuum of hunger, it's what links the anorexic to the garden-variety dieter, it's the persistent pulse of need and yearning behind the reach for food, for sex, for something.

I closed my eyes, thinking, Let me love you, Hardy, just let me.

The thing that makes love stories work, in my opinion, in movies and novels and country & western songs, is the feeling of longing.