Quotes About Yearning

Cupping a cheek in each hand, he lifted her back up to his desk and pressed his hips hard into hers. Her eyes were worried. But people keep coming--- The next person to come is going to be you, he said.

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring. —Rogers Hornsby

Like "love," "hope" is one of those ridiculously disproportional words that by all rights should be a lot longer.

You want it. I can see it in you." I gritted my teeth. "The part of me that wants it doesn't get a vote," I said.

I knew what it was like to have holes in my life in the shape of people who should have been there.

Life?" I suggested. She shrugged. "Desire. Loneliness. Joy. Pain." "Life," I said.

I longed for my bed. I longed for sleep.

All I said was, "I miss you.

More than anything, she wanted to be someplace warm and safe--but duty was a cold and barren shelter for a wounded spirit.

She kissed me again, and I returned it in kind, and it was a liquid, smooth thing, as restrained and desperate as the near-still surface of a rushing river.

another pang of half-remembered days long gone made my chest ache for a second.

The married thing. Sometimes I look at it and feel like someone from a Dickens novel, standing outside in the cold and staring in at Christmas dinner.

I wanted to drive her mad with need, to fill my senses with her warmth, her cries, her scent. I wanted to forget everything arrayed against me, even if it was just for a little while, and bare her an inch at a time. The emptiness that her warmth had begun to fill howled at me to let go.

Loneliness is a hard thing to handle. I feel it, sometimes. When I do, I want it to end. Sometimes, when you're near someone, when you touch them on some level that is deeper than the uselessly structured formality of casual civilized interaction, there's a sense of satisfaction in it. Or at least, there is for me.

Nathan speaks suddenly, with violence, against Roy's shoulder. "I like you a whole lot. I really do. And I want you to like me the same way." "I do," he says.

Everyone wishes a measure of mystery in their life that they have done nothing in particular to deserve.

What is it the wind has lost that she keeps looking for under each leaf?

In 1958 a friend in San Francisco burned out his veins shooting up hot paregoric, a cheap high. It's safer for me to continue smoldering just below the temperature of actual flame wondering if there's a distant land where life freely flows like a river. Years ago in a high green pasture near timberline I watched a small black bear on its back rolling back and forth and shimmying to scratch its back, pawing the air with pleasure, not likely wanting to be anywhere or anyone else.

A modern man, I do not make undue connections though my heart wrenches daily against the unknowable, almighty throb and heave of the universe against my skin that sings a song for which we haven't quite found the words.

It surprised me to want her [my mother] the most, but I'd never been miserable without her.

What I never expected is how much nothing there is afterwords. In life,, he was not nearby. Now he is everywhere I dream and every place I wake. Or if not him exactly, then a nothing so much like him I cannot seem to wish it goodnight.

i am troubled, immeasurably by your eyes.

Do you think you'll be the guy to make the queen of the angels sigh?

Way up in my tree I'm sitting by my fire Wond'rin' where in this world might you be And knowin' all the time you're still roamin' the countryside Do you still think about me?