Quotes About Yearning

This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the day.

The road is lonely in its crowd for it is not loved.

O that I were stored with a secret, like unshed rain in summer clouds — a secret, folded up in silence, that I could wander away with. O that I had someone to whisper to, where slow waters lap under trees that doze in the sun. The hush this evening seems to expect a footfall, and you ask me for the cause of my tears. I cannot give a reason why I weep, for that is a secret still withheld from me.

Sana evime gel demiyorum, uçsuz bucaks?z yaln?zl???ma gel.

yet I also yearn for a little sheltered nook; like a bird with its tiny nest for a dwelling, and the vast sky for flight.

Thou hast left thy memory as a flame to my lonely lamp of separation

She wants neither land nor a house. She'll die if she can't see you.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange smell in the south wind. That vague fragrance made my heart ache with longing, and it seemed to me that it was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion. — Rabindranath Tagore, from "iii," Poetry (December 1912)

He sent up his song towards the star-land out of his reach, where, circled with light, the planet who ruled his destiny shone unknown and out of ken.

I know who visits your dream, Dark One. Say her name. Her smile streaks like lightning through clouds of sleep. ?y?ma, she has nothing with which to repay you. Such impatience, biha?ga! Don't wake my sleeping ?y?ma. And you, moon, pour down your cold milk on the sun's too early fire.

I lose thee, to find thee back again and again, My beloved. Thou leavest me, that I may receive thee all the more, when thou returnest. Thou canst vanish behind the moment's screen Only because thou art mine for evermore, My beloved. When I go in search of thee, my heart trembles, spreading ripples across my love. Thou smilest through thy disguise of utter absence, and my tears sweeten thy smile.

I would like to be a D.H. Lawrence character, living in one of his novels. The people I meet don't even seem to have characters. And life seems so rich, when I look at it through his eyes, yet my own life very often appears sterile, like a bad patch of earth, as if nothing will grow there however hard I try.

but personally, he could never be anywhere without sooner or later wanting to go somewhere else... Likewise he had never been able to build anything permanent with other human beings.

why I did things I didn't want to do and couldn't do what I wanted.

To be led and then discarded by one's urges...

Is it wrong to want things that you can't give me?

I kept looking for something else, a clue, something rotting or breeding, a layer of mystery or chaos or shame, but I didn't find it.

Tive a sensação de que poderia nadar quilômetros, até o alto-mar; um desejo de liberdade, um impulso de me mover me puxava como se fosse um fio amarrado no meu peito. Era um impulso que eu conhecia bem, e havia aprendido que não era o chamado de um mundo maior, como eu antes acreditava que fosse. Era simplesmente um desejo de escapar do que eu tinha. O fio não conduzia a lugar nenhum exceto a vastidões de anonimato que não paravam de crescer.

I have wanted to be free my whole life and I haven't managed to liberate my smallest toe. I

More – life,' he said, opening his hands in a gesture of receipt. 'And more affection,' he added, after a pause. 'I wanted more affection.

My difficulty, I saw then, had always lain in finding a way to give back all the impressions I had received, to render an account to a god who had never come and never come, despite my desire to surrender everything that was stored inside me. Yet even so my receptive faculty had not, for some reason, failed me: I had remained a devourer while yearning to become a creator

What kind of love was this, that needed the love object domesticated and locked up? And if there was love being handed out, why wasn't she getting any?

I have wanted to be free my whole life... the germ of a possibility that was soon to grow and rage like a cancer through my life... on the brink of rebellion whose impossible yearnings...

I felt that I could swim for miles, out into the ocean: a desire for freedom, an impulse to move, tugged at me as though it were a thread fastened to my chest. It was an impulse I knew well, and I had learned that it was not the summons from a larger world I used to believe it to be. It was simply a desire to escape from what I had.