Quotes About Yearning

She was not sure if she would want him to have known; we do not always wish for those for whom we long to know that we long for them, especially if the longing is impossible, or inappropriate. . . to be loved by the unlovable was not something that most people could cope with.

There are many sadnesses in the hearts of men who are far away from their countries.

That, said Isabel, is the most painful feature of lost love. you wonder what the other person is doing. Right at this moment. What is he/she doing?

We are all sent the dreams we yearn for, she thought; no matter how unhappy or fraught our waking world may be, we are sent dreams in which we can do the things the heart really wants us to do.

All of us, Mma Ramotswe thought, wanted something, even if we were unable to tell anybody exactly what it was that we wanted.

She wanted everything back, as we do sometimes in our irrationality and regret; we want it all back.

i cuori degli uomini che sono molto lontani dal loro Paese sono pieni di tristezze.

She was crying because she was far from home, and who among us has never wanted to do that? There need be no other reason; just that. We cry for home, and for flowers on tables, and biscuits in little tins, and for mother; and we feel embarrassed, and foolish too, that we should be crying for such things; but we should not feel that way because all of us, in a sense, have strayed from home, and wish to return.

For once again she sensed that our heart is not always able to say what it wants to say and frequently has to content itself with less.

the truth sometimes seemed too thin to satisfy our yearnings.

It was very sweet revenge, indeed. It was compensation for the garlic that was never to be. It was about garlic, and yearning, and disappointment, and justice. It was about so many things.

No sailor could be lonelier than a man standing in the middle of our land, with the miles and miles of blue about him.

Barbara said to herself: Oh, please, please, please! Please let nothing go wrong with this—this wildly improbable, impossible, but gorgeous thing. She was not sure to whom to address this invocation. To Venus, perhaps? If the goddess of love were listening, she would surely cherish such an invocation and understand the urgency, the yearning, that lay behind it.

have misgivings about people not having a spiritual life. It's so Ã¢â'¬Â¦ so shallow. I sometimes think that life without a spiritual dimension must be like being made of cardboard—and as deep and satisfying." She paused. "I feel that there is something there—some force, or truth, perhaps—to put it at its most general. I sense it, and I suppose I'd even go so far as to say that I yearn for it. I want it to be. Maybe that's God.

We've got to have forbidden fruit, Or Eden's joys for us are moot.

When I want somebody to read to, To match a dream with tuneful phrase, It is my nurse that I pay heed to, Companion of my youthful days, Or, following a boring dinner, A neihbour comes in, who I corner, Catch at his coat tails suddenly And choke him with a tragedy, Or, (here I am no longer jesting), Haunted by rhymes and yearning's ache, I roam beside my country lake And scare a flock of wild ducks resting: Hearing my strophes' sweet-toned chants, They fly off from the banks at once.

She craves romance. She dreams that she is the heroine of every book she reads.

Eu te-am iubit ÅŸi poate c? iubirea În suflet înc? nu s-a stins de tot; Dar nici neliniÅŸte ÅŸi nici tristeÅ£e Ea nu îÅ£i va mai da, aÅŸa socot. F?r? cuvinte te-am iubit, f?r? n?dejde, De gelozie, de sfial? chinuit. Dea Domnul s? mai fii cîndva iubit? AÅŸa adînc, aÅŸa gingaÅŸ cum te-am iubit.

My goddesses! Where now? Forsaken? Oh hearken to my call, I rue: Are you the same? Have others taken Your place without replacing you?

Que je voulais, dans quelle fièvre Toucher ses pieds, du bout des lèvres

I longed for you so avidly.

My goddesses! You vanished faces! Oh, hearken to my woeful call: Have other maidens gained your places, Yet not replaced you after all? (12)

There were words on our lips that in our loneliness alone wanted utterance, and the need by itself virtually created the feeling.

Man loves in order to live in another a life missing in himself, for perhaps love does love what it lacks: we want to be what we love, even if what we love wants us to be, when we love, what we are.