Quotes About Yearning

And now I understand that truth casts a spell of its own, one I'm not sure of how to hold on to, though I'm desperate to try.

I've never been in love. I will die without knowing what it feels like to need to see one person's face when you go to sleep at night, to crave seeing it when you wake up. I wish I knew.

It isn't that we do what we want. It's that we're allowed to want at all.

When I dream, I dream of him.

Just once, she'd like to be the exciting one, the girl somebody wanted.

And yet, you're still alone. All that trying and still you stand apart, watching from the other side of the glass. Afraid to have what you truly want because what if it's not enough after all ? So much better to wrap yourself up in the longing. The yearning. The restlessness. Poor Gemma. She doesn't quite fit, does she? Poor Gemma--all alone.

I have done what they expected of me. I have curtsied for my Queen and made my debut. This is what I have anticipated eagerly for years. So why do I feel so unsatisfied? Everyone is merry. They haven't a care in the world. And perhaps that is it. How terrible it is to have no cares, no longings. I do not fit. I feel too deeply and want too much.

She wished she were as inconsequential as the ghosts in her dreams.

I don't know. Sometimes, I feel nothing, and I'm so afraid. Afraid I'll stop feeling anything at all. I'll just slip away inside myself...I just need to feel something A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 177, by

She loved attention. It was like a glass of the best champagne—bubbly and intoxicating—and as with champagne, she always wanted more of it. Still, she didn't want to seem like an easy mark. "If you must know, I've come to join a convent," Evie said, testing him.

There's no time to be modest. Reason will not work here. Without warning, I kiss Kartik. His lips, pressed firmly against mine, are a surprise. They are warm, light as breath, firm as the give of a peach against my mouth. A scent like scorched cinnamon hangs in the air, but I'm not falling into any vision. It's his smell in me. A smell that makes my stomach drop through my feet. A smell that pushes all thought out of my head and replaces it with an overpowering hunger for more.

Why does it always seem that I have only the shadow of my father? I'm like a child constantly grabbing at his coattails and missing.

chasing after words like trying to grab the tails of comets.

Absence is a curious thing. When friends are absent, they seem to loom ever larger, till the lack of them is all one can feel.

The desperation meeting the silence with its unmasked wish.

I don't understand why he had to fight. He was already in heaven. True. But he wasn't content to serve. He wanted more. He had all he could ask for, didn't he? Ann asks. Exactly. Miss Moore states. He had to ask. He was dependent upon someone else's whim. It's a terrible thing to have no power of one's own. To be denied.

Theta's hand slid just slightly toward Memphis's. He inched his forward, too, just grazing the tips of her fingers with his.

Sometimes, Johannes would pop his head in the filing room and ask, Need anything? 'Yes. I would like you to ravage me here on the floor and swear your undying love to me.'No. Thanks. I'm good.

I know the English are terribly sentimental about the sea, but I can live without it.

They'd never discussed how to find one's place in the world, never talked of fathers and sons, or what makes someone a man. No. He and Will spoke in newspaper articles about ghosts. They conversed through the careful curation of supernatural knickknacks. And Jericho couldn't help but feel cheated at how little he'd gotten when he'd needed so much more.

There's a great big hole in the middle of me, and no matter how hard I try, I can't fill it. I try to keep the awful, empty sadness out, but it keeps coming back in...

And afterward, in the small cabin, they'd do this, this tangle of bodies, this blurring of the edges that kept people distant and lonely.

He imagined that one day he'd hear that his parents were gone and feel only a vague sense of loss. How could you mourn something you'd never really had?

just don't know how we make this work between us," Alma said quietly. Ling blushed with shame. Sex. It was about sex, or the lack thereof. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Alma laced her beautiful fingers and placed them in her lap. And then Ling forced herself to keep her gaze on the man across the street sweeping his patch of sidewalk. Ling watched the bristles pushing against the wilted flowers and felt as if she, too, were being brushed into the gutter.