Quotes About Yearning

Does the ore feel trapped in coins and gears? does it feel homesick for earth?

Lösch mir die Augen aus: ich kann dich sehn, wirf mir die Ohren zu: ich kann dich hören, und ohne Füße kann ich zu dir gehn, und ohne Mund noch kann ich dich beschwören. Brich mir die Arme ab, ich fasse dich mit meinem Herzen wie mit einer Hand, halt mir das Herz zu, und mein Hirn wird schlagen, und wirfst du in mein Hirn den Brand, so werd ich dich auf meinem Blute tragen.

You longed to be yourself.

DüÅŸünebilirdim ta en son k?y?na kadar bin katl? bir düÅŸünceyle ben seni; ve bir gülümseme süresince benim olurdun.

Wie meine Träume nach Dir schrein. Wir sind uns mühsam fremd geworden, Jetzt will es mir die Seele morden Dies arme, bange Einsamsein. Kein Hoffen, das die Segel bauscht. Nur diese weite, weisse Stille, In die mein thatenloser Wille In athemlosem Bangen lauscht.

You see, I want a lot. Maybe I want it all: the darkness of each endless fall, the shimmering light of each ascent. — Rainer Maria Rilke, from "Du Siehst, ich will viel," Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God , trans. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy (Riverhead Books, 1996)

Memory Is Not Enough Memory is not enough… I do not recollect. What I am is alive in me because of you. I do not reinvent you at sadly cooled-off places you have left behind. Even your absence is filled with your warmth and is more real than your not-existing. Longing often meanders into vagueness. Why should I throw myself away when something in you may be touching me, very lightly, like moonlight on a window seat.

Was bin ich unter diese Unendlichkeit gelegt, duftend wie eine Wiese, hin und her bewegt, rufend zugleich und bange, daß einer den Ruf vernimmt, und zum Untergange in einem Andern bestimmt.

Du entfernst dich von mir, du Stunde. Wunden schlägt mir dein Flügelschlag. Allein: was soll ich mit meinem Munde? mit meiner Nacht? mit meinem Tag? Ich habe keine Geliebte, kein Haus, keine Stelle auf der ich lebe. Alle Dinge, an die ich mich gebe, werden reich und geben mich aus. [Der Dichter]

love then is what my hands attempt to grasp because I want to say a prayer whose sounds my burning mouth, my lips, cannot bring forth … (Franz Kappus)

Ah, only plunged toward you does my face cease being on display, grows into you and twines on darkly, endlessly, into your sheltered heart…

Earth, isn't this what you want: to arise in us invisible?—Isn't your dream one day to be invisible?

love then is what my hands attempt to grasp because I want to say a prayer whose sounds my burning mouth, my lips, cannot bring forth …

There is only one solitude, and it is vast and not easy to bear and almost everyone has moments when they would happily exchange it for some form of company, be it ever so banal or trivial, for the illusion of some slight correspondence with whoever one happens to come across, however unworthy… But perhaps those are precisely the hours when solitude grows, for its growth is painful like the growth of boys and sad like the beginning of spring.

The sunken are always seeking the earth again.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Bana iyi görünen bu dünyaya hiç de al??m?? deÄŸilim. BaÅŸka bir dünyada ne iÅŸim var? HoÅŸland???m anlamlar aras?nda kalmay? çok isterdim ve eÄŸer bir ÅŸeyler deÄŸiÅŸecekse, ben en az?ndan, bize akraba bir dünyalar? olan ve ayn? ÅŸeylere sahip köpekler aras?nda yaÅŸamama izin verilsin isterim.

how will you sleep without my whispering above you like the linden's branches? Without my lying here awake and placing words, almost like eyelids, on your breasts, your limbs, your lips. Without my closing you and leaving you alone with what is yours like a garden with a mass of mint-balm and star-anise.

Why, if this interval of being can be spent serenely in the form of a laurel, slightly darker than all other green, with tiny waves on the edges of every leaf (like the smile of a breeze)—: why then have to be human—and, escaping from fate, keep longing for fate? . . .

If the heart longs for nothing but to be new and unlimited, the world is instantly the same as on the day of its creation and infinite.

Was berechtigt Sie dann, ihn, welcher niemals war, wie einen Vergangenen zu vermissen und zu suchen, als ob er verloren wäre?

Gin, jazz and dreams were not enough.

And all Negroes at some period of their lives there is that yearning for a sense of group unity that is the yearning of men for a flag: for a unity that cannot be compromised, that cannot be bought; that is conscious of itself, of its strength, that is militant.

Thou art to me a delicious torment.