Quotes About Yearning

Sometimes what I wouldn't give to have us sitting in a bar again at 9:00 a.m. telling lies to one another, far from God.

When he was dry, he believed it was alcohol he needed, but when he had a few drinks in him, he knew it was something else, possibly a woman; and when he had it all -- cash, booze, and a wife -- he couldn't be distracted from the great emptiness that was always falling through him and never hit the ground.

With each step my heart broke for the person I would never find, the person who'd love me.

She had nothing in this world but her two hands and her crazy love for Jesus, who seemed, for his part, never to have heard of her.

There was a part of her she hadn't yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place

All men hear is blah, blah, blah, blah, SEX, blah, blah, blah, FOOD, blah, blah, blah, BEER.

Love is this feeling that you would give anything for another. You would climb to the moon and steal the stars from the sky if she asked it. You want to shelter her and protect her, yes. But it's more than that. When you walk into a room, she is the first one you look for. Her laughter brightens your day, and when she is hurt, you are, too. It's the warm feeling that fills your soul when she is near. A mere touch of her hand sends you to your knees with wanting.

Stop it," he whispered. "Stop what?" "Looking at me like that." "I'm trying to figure you out.

Know what you do to me, city girl?" The question seemed to ease her mind. The corner of her lips curled up. "Good to know.

A curly wisp of hair had come loose from her updo, kissing the side of her face. Seth longed to brush it behind her ear, to feel the silky smoothness of her skin under the pad of his thumb. He clenched his fist before he followed through and got his hand smacked away.

I'm not ready for you to go." His voice was thick and smoky.

He didn't want to share his life with a couple stinky cowboys. He wanted Shay back. He wanted them to be a family, Shay, Olivia, and him. He wanted to share Shay's bed, to wake up and see her face every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to hear Olivia call for "Dad" again and know she was calling for him.

I missed you most of all, you know," he said. "You were my best friend.

She traced the shape of those lips. They were damp and plush and too far away. "You have really nice lips. I missed them." One side of them kicked up, his eyes opening. "Is that all you missed?" She couldn't count on both hands everything she'd missed about Beau. About the Callahans, about Summer Harbor.

As much as he might lie to himself, tell himself it was real, it wasn't. All the public displays in the world didn't give him the right to kiss her or hold her or even touch her. Her response made that clear enough. And yet, he'd thought he'd seen something in her eyes. Something promising. Something hopeful. Maybe Layla's feelings were starting to change. Maybe she'd be willing to give him another chance. Or maybe it was only wishful thinking.

His heart stirred with a yearning desire. Desire to protect her, desire to hold her and love her.

Since Stephen had arrived, Jake had gone over and over the way Meridith had greeted him. The way he'd greeted her, with an apathetic kiss and a tame hello. If it had been him, missing his woman for weeks, he'd have swept her into his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless. He didn't get it. Movement

He remembered the way she looked wearing his hat, remembered the warmth of her in his arms as they danced, their first kiss in the barn when he'd been rocked by the riot she'd caused inside him. There was nothing he didn't remember. Including the way she looked at him, like he hung the moon and the stars. It was the look Dylan referred to, the one that convinced his friend her feelings were real. Wade would give anything to have her here now, looking at him like that.

I wanted to know all the bones in your spine, all the pores of your skin, tendrils of body hair. To let all of my skin, my hands, ankles, shoulders, breasts, even my shadow, be forever imprinted with whatever of you is forever unknown of me.

Some people, no matter what you give them, still want the moon. The bread, the salt, white meat and dark meat, still hungry. The marriage bed and the cradle, still empty arms. You give them land, their own earth under their feet, still they take to the roads. And water: dig them the deepest, still it's not deep enough to drink the moon from.

And we, frightened, bored, wanting only to sleep till catastrophe has raged, clashed, seethed and gone by without us, wanting then to awaken in quietude without remembrance of agony, we who in shamefaced private hope had looked to be plucked from fire and given a bliss we deserved for having imagined it, is it implied that we must protect this perversely weak animal, whose muzzle's nudgings suppose there is milk to be found in us? Must hold to our icy hearts a shivering God?

I believe that within the core of every human being dwells a yearning for the meaning that lies beyond the prosaic reality of everyday life. We reach out for evidence of something beyond the ordinary.

I felt that when I'd wished to die, I was being who I really was, sans interference from the world or from the priorities and hopes that had polluted me through other people's minor needs for me or from the books I read incessantly. It was like I'd found myself, and I was someone who had never had the things I really wanted, plainly never would, and whom no one would fully comprehend.

He wanted to ask her what sound a heart made when it broke from pleasure, when just the sight of someone filled you the way food, blood, and air never could, when you felt as if you'd been born for only one moment and this, for whatever reason, was it.