Quotes About Yearning

I imagine Locke taking my hands tonight, imagine him sweeping me around the hill.

I have had little fun in my life so far. The promise of more is difficult to resist.

when he kisses me, i feel as though i can finally breathe again

It was warm there, and he could pretend he was hiding, could pretend that someone was looking for him.

Maybe it isn't the worst thing to want to be loved, even if your're not. Even if it hurts.

You sure you brought me here just to talk?' 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.

If you could reach your hand up far enough, could you pluck the moon from the sky? "I wouldn't play the game if I couldn't win.

Nicasia's wrong about me. I don't desire to do as well in the tournament as one of the fey. I want to win. I do not yearn to be their equal. In my heart I yearn to best them.

Her fingers are cold against his flushed skin. It's nice. He hopes she won't take them away.

I am overcome with a feeling of nostalgia for something I haven't yet lost.

There it is. That temper you try to hide. You know what fascinates me about you? You're a hungry person sitting in front of a banquet, refusing to eat.

It isn't that mortals can't be pretty—many of them are—but their beauty doesn't make you feel pummeled by it. I feel a little pummeled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

Cardan had grown up in the palace, a wild thing to be cosseted by courtiers and scowled at by the High King. No one much liked him, and he told himself he cared little for anyone else. And if he sometimes thought about how he might do something to win his father's favour, something to make the Court respect him and love him, he kept that to himself. He certainly asked no one to tell him stories, and yet he found it was nice to be told one. He kept that to himself, too.

I'm so tired," I say out loud. "So tired." I sit there for a long time, watching the rising sun gild the sky, listening to the waves crash as the tide goes out, when a creature flies up to alight on the edge of my window. At first it seems like an owl, but it's got hob eyes. "Tired of what, sweetmeat?" it asks me. I sigh and answer honestly for once. "Of being powerless." The hob studies my face, then flies off into the night.

When I'm with him, I feel like the hero of a story. Of my story. It's when he's not there that things don't feel right.

If it's nice, perhaps the smith will make you a cup that never runs out of wine." Carden gives me a look up through his lashes that I find hard to interpret and rises, too. He takes my hand. "Nothing is sweeter," he says, kissing the back of it, "but that which is scarce.

Desire is an odd thing. As soon as it is sated, it transmutes. If we receive the golden thread, we desire the golden needle.

I look into his eyes. His hand slides to my hip, as though he might pull me closer. For a dizzy, stupid moment, something seems to shimmer in the air between us. page 98

I know I shouldn't love it as I do, stolen as I am from the mortal world, my parents murdered. But I love it all the same

It's okay to want something that's going to hurt, I remind myself.

Quiero que mi nombre desaparezca de sus labios.

Quiero que mi nombre desaparezca de tus labios.

kiss me until i'm sick of it

And you think it was sunrise I was waiting for and not my queen.