Quotes About Yearning

And sometimes, I whispered to him, I wish it could be you inside me. That I could take you into me and keep you safe always. His hand, large and warm, lifted slowly from the bed and cupped the small round swell of my belly, sheltering and caressing. You do, my own, he said. You do.

He came through the front door just as I barreled into the hallway, and grabbed me round the waist, kissing me with sun-dusty enthusiasm and sandpaper whiskers. "You're back," I said, rather inanely. "I am, and there are Indians just behind me," he said, clutching my bottom with both hands and rasping his whiskers fervently against my cheek. "God, what I'd give for a quarter of an hour alone wi' ye, Sassenach!

My love," he whispered. "Oh, my love. I do want ye so.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you?" His hand came around to caress my breast. "Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

I want to hold you hard to me and kiss you, and never let you go. I want to take you to my bed and use you like a whore, 'til I forget that I exist. And I want to put my head in your lap and weep like a child.

Oh, many and many a time," he whispered. "When I saw you. When I took ye, not caring did ye want me or no, did ye have somewhere else to be, someone else to love.

We stood wrapped in each other's arms, taking comfort from our family below, yearning for the others we might never see again, at once at home and homeless, balanced on a knife edge of danger and uncertainty. But together.

Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

He reached out and touched my lower lip, barely brushing the edge. "It starts out the same, but then, after a moment," he said, speaking softly, "suddenly it's as though I've a living flame in my arms." His touch grew firmer, outlining my lips and caressing the line of my jaw. "And I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed.

Dear God," he said, still softly. "I couldna look at ye, Sassenach, and keep my hands from you, nor have ye near me, and not want ye.

And I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed.

I cried then, holding nothing back. For empty years, yearning for the touch of a hand. Hollow years, lying beside a man I had betrayed, for whom I had no tenderness. For the terrors and doubts and griefs of the day. Cried for him and me and for Mary MacNab, who knew what loneliness was—and what love was, as well.

I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving

I have yearned always," he said softly, "for love given and returned; have spent my life in the attempt to give my love to those who were not worthy of it. Allow me this: to give my life for the sake of one who is.

Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you?

You will never satisfy a woman," she said softly. "Any woman who shared your bed will leave after no more than a single night, cursing you." "Very likely, madam," he said. "Good night.

It starts out the same, but then, after a moment," he said, speaking softly, "suddenly it's as though I've a living flame in my arms." His touch grew firmer, outlining my lips and caressing the line of my jaw. "And I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed." I

bein' cooped up indoors." The little finger waggled briefly.

It took two days, and God kens well that I recall every second of those days—yet it seems that I lost her between one heartbeat and the next. And I—I keep lookin' for her there, in that space between.

Diana Gabaldon

To have ye with me again, to talk wi' you, to know I can say anything, not guard my words or hide my thoughts. God, Sassenach the Lord knows I am as lust-crazed as a lad, and I canna keep my hands from you, or anything else. But I would count that all well lost, had no more than the pleasure of havin' ye by me, and to tell ye all my heart.

Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi' loving you.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you? Even when I've just left ye. I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.