Quotes About Yearning

Urban man lives only in dreaming.

Hild looked at the hot spark and flicker of her carnelians and pretended they were coals. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been warm. Couldn't even remember when she'd eaten something hot.

If Hild thought of sides, she thought of plots, of her mother, of Lindsey, its blood, its stink, and the world began to dissolve into a white hiss so that she wanted to step away from her body and become the marble maid again.

I had needed the animal warmth of the sex, had welcomed the familiar building heat of skin on skin, the harsh breath, the shudder that starts in your bones. The terrible urge afterwards to weep until I howled had been new.

Whatever she did she would find herself thinking of people who weren't there.

Desire wrapped its arms around her and held her still, helpless, able only to breathe.

Kissing her was not like kissing Julia, who had been all length and plum softness, and whose messages had been very clear. Kick was like a powerful trapped beast. She stirred restlessly, one hand in the small of my back, pulling me closer, one on my shoulder pushing me away. I eased to one side, weight on my right elbow, head propped on my hand. I stroked her belly. The muscle loosened. She sighed. The sigh sounded as though it had a smile in it. I smiled in the dark.

That night she dreamt of seawater coursing over her glistening skin, of flying underwater and over it, and woke in the glimmer of dawn with a shivering yearning, delicious and unnameable.

There are always people missing. And sometimes I see their ghosts.

Gwladus stood before her, close enough to smell. Hild didn't look up. If she did, she would pull Gwladus close and never let her go.

Sunshine and musk and dusty violets, but so faint. I breathed again: her skin, and her hair, oh dear god her hair…Tears ran down my face, my neck, dripped on my hands onto her shirt. All I had left of her. So faint. So very faint.

I sipped, and the hot liquor eased the pain in the center of my chest, warmed the unfallen tears, made me long to bury my face in a woman's hair. In Julia's hair.

Wolf eyes," she whispered, and I could feel her breath on my throat, "so pale and hungry.

It was a good place, a fine place, it should have been her place to belong. Only it was not; Arturus did not want her.

The urge to roam increased upon her like a thirst.

Peretur wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but Nimuë looked brittle enough to fall apart. So she just waited.

For a moment my face hung near the opening of her robe, and I breathed in the soft, buttered-toast scent of sleepy, naked woman.

I kissed her, and stroked the soft planes of flank and thigh, teased with a fingertip and breath and gaze, and when she shuddered like a kite on a long line, when she began to whip and plunge, when she begged me, I turned her and steadied her and let her loose. It was always the same. They flew and I flew, but to different places.

I don't want to be here alone. I want you to stay." "People don't stay just because you want them to.

In the flickering ochre-and-gold light, Peretur saw the heat rise in Nimuë's cheeks, and her lips redder, and her own belly warmed, and she filled with another hunger.

She knew that scent, and her need rose like the tide.

Gwenhwyfar looked at her husband and quivered like a leashed hound with the scent.

I ached for them. Most of them would not be able to cling to their bubble world; one day someone, something would thrust it. I wished it could be different.

The lack was more in his soul than his body.