Quotes About Yearning

I think of you so incessantly, so insistently. The thought of you is always there. It lies hidden, a latency, in the most unlikely things and places, ready at the command of some chance association to jump out at me from its ambush.

But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.

And I'm not a poet: but never despair! I'll madly live the poems I shall never write.

Je veux savoir ce que c'est que la passion, lui entendait-elle dire. Je veux ressentir quelque chose avec violence.

I want to know what passion is, she heard him saying. I want to feel something strongly.

I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin.

Words expressing desire may be more moving than the presence of the desired person.

But I don't want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.

Impulse spills over, and the flood is feeling, the flood is passion, the flood is even madness [...] Feeling lurks in that interval of time between desire and its consummation.

But all such facts are remote and unsubstantial compared with the near, felt fact of a craving, here and now, for release or sedation, for a drink or a smoke.

He squeezed her limp hand almost with violence, as though he would force her to come back from this dream of ignoble pleasures, from these base and hateful memories_back into the present, back into reality: the appalling present, the awful reality_but sublime, but significant, but desperately important precisely because of the imminence of that which made them so fearful.

But somehow something kind of went wrong on the way between the wanting and the saying. And then the doing seemed to go just as wrong as the saying. She always wanted to do things excitingly, romantically, like in a play. But you can't make things be exciting and romantic, can you?

O my God, how does it happen in this poor old world that Thou art so great and yet nobody finds Thee, that Thou callest so loudly and nobody hears Thee, that Thou art so near and nobody feels Thee, that Thou givest Thyself to everybody and nobody knows Thy name? Men flee from Thee and say they cannot find Thee; they turn their backs and say they cannot see Thee; they stop their ears and say they cannot hear Thee. Hans Denk

he was breathing Lenina's perfume, filling his lungs with her essential being. His heart beat wildly; for a moment he was almost faint.

Don't think of him. I can't help it. Take soma then. I do. Well, go on. But in the intervals I still like him. I shall always like him.

Ben keyif aram?yorum, Tanr?'y? istiyorum,ÅŸiir istiyorum,gerçek tehlike istiyorum,özgürlük istiyorum,iyilik istiyorum. Günah istiyorum. Asl?nda, dedi Mustafa Mond, siz mutsuz olma hakk?n? istiyorsunuz.

I want to know what passion is,' he said. 'I want to feel something strongly. We are all grown-up intellectually and during working hours,' he went on, 'but we are infants where feeling and desire are concerned.

But I don't want comfort; I want god, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.

Lenina'y? hem arzuluyor hem de bu arzudan utan?yordu. Lenina'ya lây?k deÄŸildi... Bir an gözleri buluÅŸtu, ne hazineler vaat ediyordu gözleri! Paha biçilmez hazineler.[...] Bir an gelir de kendini Lenina'ya lây?k hisseder diye belli belirsiz bir korkuya kap?ld?.

I am I, and I wish I weren't.

Los sentimientos proliferan en el intervalo que media entre el deseo y su realización

La mayoría de los hombres y las mujeres llevan vidas tan pobres y limitadas en el mejor, que el afán de escapar, el ansia de trascender de sí mismo aunque sólo sea por breves momentos es, y ha sido siempre, uno de los principales apetitos del alma

La mayoría de los hombres y las mujeres llevan vidas tan penosas en el peor de los casos y tan monótonas, pobres y limitadas en el mejor, que el afán de escapar, el ansia de trascender de sí mismo aunque sólo sea por breves momentos es, y ha sido siempre, uno de los principales apetitos del alma.

But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin. — Aldous Huxley Brave New World (Harper Perennial Modern Classics 1998) Originally published 1932.