Quotes About Yearning

I was always alone, Doc, solitary whether I wished to be or not, ever since I could remember I wished to be lost in another, thought that somehow I could disappear into that heart of yours, take walks within your veins, wander through the bones of you. You had friends, Satan said, you loved and were loved, you must not forget that, at least not that. But did I allow anyone in, I asked Satan, and he said, Did you, does anyone?

Nessuna perdita viene avvertita più profondamente della perdita di ciò che sarebbe potuto essere. Nessuna nostalgia fa male quanto la nostalgia per le cose che non sono mai esistite.

You've been gone for decades, you hid deep in my lakes, why now, why infect my dreams now? What flood is this?

My heart had momentarily found its pestle.

Nicio pierdere nu se simte mai acut decat pierderea a ceea ce ar fi putut sa fie. Nicio nostalgie nu doare la fel de mult ca nostalgia dupa lucrurile care n-au existat niciodata.

I'd read through the whole thing twice, and I used to go on and on: Marcel, the spectacular writer, my idol, and so forth. I used to blather endlessly about why I adored him, how he, the desperate socialite and party hopper, the inveterate pleaser, was actually the outsider par excellence, how he could be amid all the people he'd always dreamed of befriending yet remain alone in the universe, the loneliest speck of all.

Home is never where she is, but where she is not.

I lie on my side, head sunk in the pillow, waiting for first light, for the lift of the curtain, waiting for you, how your right hand used to entwine with my left in a slow dance, how our bodies fit in bed, yet you didn't show up.

No nostalgia is felt as keenly as nostalgia for things that never existed. I

From Pessoa: "Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me.

Sex, like art, can unsettle a soul, can grind a heart in a mortar. Sex, like literature, can sneak the other within one's walls, even if for only a moment, a moment before one immures oneself again.

The fundamental desire of life is the desire to exist.

The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . .

Only Thee That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry ---`I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is ---`I want thee, only thee'.

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house — do not pass by like a dream.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

Dreams can never be made captive.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire. The gleaming vision flits on. I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.

I have read in books that we are called 'caged birds'. I cannot speak for others, but I had so much in this cage of mine that there was not room for it in the universe- at least that is what I then felt.

I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence. It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers.

A fancy comes to me--that desire can never attain its object--it need never attain it.

I run as a musk-deer runs in the shadow of the forest mad with his own perfume. The night is the night of mid-May, the breeze is the breeze of the south. I lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek. From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire. The gleaming vision flits on. I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.