Quotes About Yearning

I see arms and hands and tear-stained faces... Reaching up but not quite touching the promised land... I hear pleas and prayers and desperate graces, Saying Oh Lord, please give us a helping hand...

The weather is here Wish you were beautiful.

Eles se disseram, assim eles dois, coisas grandes em palavras pequenas, ti a mim, me a ti, e tanto. Contudo, e felizes, alguma outra coisa se agitava neles, confusa - assim rosa-amor-espinhos-saudade.

It was the kind of Sunday to make one ache for Monday morning.

Raised to believe that her life would be, as her great-grandmother's was said to have been, one ceaseless round of fixed and settled principles, aims, motives, and activity, she could sometimes think of nothing to do but walk downtown, check out the Bon Marche for clothes she could not afford, buy a cracked crab for dinner and take a taxi home.

At a point during the summer it occurred to me that I had no letters from John, not one. We had only rarely been far or long apart.

Bringing him back" had been through those months my hidden focus, a magic trick. By late summer I was beginning to see this clearly. "Seeing it clearly" did not yet allow me to give away the clothes he would need.           I

Why make this call and not just say what you wanted? His eyes. His blue eyes. His blue imperfect eyes.

After a while there were no more tule fogs at dawn and all Charlotte wanted was one night that did not end badly.

De fiecare dat? aceste rug?minÈ›i pentru prezenÈ›a lui nu au f?cut decât s?-mi înt?reasc? conÈ™tiinÈ›a t?cerii definitive care ne-a desp?rÈ›it.

I've never been any place I wanted to go.

It is impossible to think of Howard Hughes without seeing the apparently bottomless gulf between what we say we want and what we do want, between what we officially admire and secretly desire, between, in the largest sense, the people we marry and the people we love.

What would I give to be able to discuss anything at all with John? What would I give to be able to say one small thing that made him happy? What would that small thing be? If I had said it in time would it have worked?

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty," Philippe Ariès wrote to the point of this aversion in Western Attitudes toward Death. "But one no longer has the right to say so aloud.

Yet on each occasion these pleas for his presence served to reinforce my awareness of the final silence that separated us.

I wanted to say that you don't grieve in the same way for love you've never had, but it still feels like a punch in the stomach. I wanted to say that you don't get any sympathy cards for the love you've never had, however much it hurts.

As it happened I did not grow up to be the kind of woman who is the heroine in a Western, and although the men I have know have had many virtues and have taken me to live in many places that I have come to love, they have never been John Wayne, and they have never taken me to that bend in the river where to cottonwoods grow. Deep in that part of my heart where the artificial rain forever falls, that is still the line I wait to hear.

I wanted not a window on the world but the world itself.

What's the matter, Maria said, standing in the doorway in the dark. It isn't any better. How do you know. He said nothing, I mean we didn't even try. You don't want it. I do too. No, he said. You don't.

It's all gone with you, he said. It used to be there but it's gone. Listen, she said as if by rote. I love you.

I could picture him gray and gaunt, looking out from an armchair, braving the worst. I knew how he'd be; I knew him. He'd be glad to see me by then, more than glad. I could feel myself wishing it were that time now.

Beneath her Marks and Spencer jersey, her heart sometimes called him darling, and after two glasses of Liebfraumilch, lover.

To think that Christ gave us so much only to have us experience so little brings tears to my eyes.

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please, not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk or a snooze in the sunshine… I want ecstasy, not transformation; I want the warmth of the womb