Quotes About Yearning

He wanted to see this woman writhe in pleasure, wanted to be the only man to cause it. More than anything he wanted her to need him.

I don't love you, you know. I'm merely crazy about you.

Ingo was a fever, and so far she hadn't found the antidote.

Really, the insufferable conceit of the man. How dared he have the unutterable gall to know how her knees weakened at the sight of him, how she felt full of life and spirit when he was with her, how his very touch sent fire coursing through her veins in a way she hadn't known existed outside the pages of lending-library novels!

Like King Midas, I am left with nothing but this unreasonable hope that, somehow, my strange life and my lost family will return to normal.

We all of us go about, she meant to tell him but was too occupied, wanting to be wanted but unsure why anybody should bother.

There is a bird in my chest with wings too broad with beak that rips me wanting to get out. I have called it an idiot parrot. I have called it a ravening eagle. But it sings. Bird of no name your cries are red and wet on the iron air. I open my mouth to let you out and your shining blinds me.

The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real.

Snow lies on my fields though the air is so warm I want to roll on my back and wriggle. Sure, the dark downhill weep shows who's winning, and the thatch of tall grass is sticking out of the banks, but I want to start digging and planting. My swelling hills, my leafbrown loamy soil interlaced with worms red as mouths, my garden, why don't you hurry up and take your clothes off ?

It's pitch, sex is. Once you touch it, it clings to you.

George Abbershaw's prosaic mind quivered on the verge of poetry when he looked at her.

A heart may desire a thing powerfully indeed, but that heart's desire might be what a person least needs, for her health, for her continuing happiness.

...as long as nothing happens between them, the memory is cursed with what hasn't happened.

as long as nothing happens between them, the memory is cursed with what hasn't happened.

He says he's lonely, horribly lonely because of this love he feels for her. She says she's lonely too. She doesn't say why.

She had lived her early years as though she were waiting for something she might, but never did, become.

I'm still there, watching those possessed children, as far away from the mystery now as I was then. I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

Maybe she's looking for us," Maureen would say hopefully. "Maybe!" nodded Paul.

I was willing to yield to nostalgia, that melancholy residue of desire.

If There Be Sorrow If there be sorrow let it be for things undone undreamed unrealized unattained to these add one: Love withheld ... restrained

Elle approchait et sa plume légère au chapeau d'ombre, se penchait sur moi m'effleurant la joue. (extrait de « La Dame au petit chien », p.161, revu par Alain Bosquet)

I frantically opened my address book and searched it for someone, anyone, who'd moved me, who'd been good in both bed and brain. No. A slew of the so-so.

I need to get onto Aza's ship. I know where it's going. I think I know, even though all I really know, all I've really known since I was five, is that Aza is my universe.