Quotes About Yearning

Seaside gusts of wind, And a house in which we don't live, And the shadow of a cherished cedar In front of a forbidden window... Perhaps there is someone in this world To whom I could send all these lines. Well then! Let the lips smile bitterly And a tremor touch the heart again.

Oh, my home is not my own – I lament and rue. Answer, stranger yet unknown, I am seeking you!

Don't kiss me, I am weary - Death will kiss me.

Whether to look for you on earth -- I don't know if you're dead or you live -- Or about you in the evening I should for you, departed, grieve. All is for you: and the daily prayer And the sleeplessness' swooning flame And the white flock of my poems And my eyes' blue violent flame. No one was dearer to me, no one, No one left me this bereft, Not even he who betrayed me to torment, Not even he who caressed, then left.

He never asks for endearment, all quiet, Only gazes at me all the time, And he bears with a blissful smile This distressing oblivion of mine.

Thus I live, without singing at all. Neither sky nor earth is for me.

How I love, how I loved to stare At the ironclad shores, On the balcony, where forever No foot stepped, not mine, not yours. And in truth you are -- a capital For the mad and luminous us; But when over Nieva sail Those special, pure hours And the winds of May fly over You past the iron beams You are like a dying sinner Seeing heavenly dreams...

The earthly glory is like smoke, I wanted much more than this. In all my lovers I evoked The feelings of joy and bliss. One is still in love somewhere With a friend from long ago, The other stands in the city square,- A statue of bronze in the snow.

Oh, how often you'll remember The sudden pain of unnamed longing — Anna Akhmatova, from "I'll erase this day from your memory," trans. A. S. Kline, White Flock (Hyperborea, 1917)

a grieved shadow hunts my body's warmth

You alone were my fate, I would have done anything for you.

You haunt me still somehow, I've saved each word from you. — Anna Akhmatova, White Flock: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova . Translated by Andrey Kneller (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform July 30, 2013)

If you were a star, I would gaze by the window till dawn

As the presence of those we love is as a double life, so absence, in its anxious longing and sense of vacancy, is as a foretaste of death.

There are perhaps only one or two things in the world which are not far more charming in desire than they are in possession.

He'd stared into her eyes, dark with confusion and unwilling passion, and for one stark, horrible instant, he'd wished to be that different man. He'd wished to be worthy of her.

I want you to want me the way I want you. I want you to come to me and tell me that. Then I want you to show me it's true. - Duke Kylemore to Verity Ashton -

He'd been unhappy, restless, irritable since leaving Surrey. He'd lived on memories of her. Her absence slowly strangled him. The instant he took Antonia in his arms, he breathed again.

Then she'd stared at him with those radiant blue eyes and asked him to let her go. And bugger, bugger, bigger, he'd suddenly imagined he was sodding Sir Galahad.

He swallowed again and tightened his grip so even if she wanted to leave, she couldn't. It astonished him how difficult it was to find the one word he needed after these exquisite days. The one word he had no right to say. He forced the forbidden syllable from his tight throat. "Stay.

Open your mouth, tesoro." He angled her face higher. "Open your mouth for me." At his raw demand, her eyes flared wide. For a drunken moment, he drowned in glorious brown, rich, autumnal, sensual.

He couldn't get enough of that luscious mouth, of her tangy flavor.

He'd called her a sparrow. If he made the slightest untoward movement, his wild bird would fly away into the forest and he'd never find her again. And the strangest result of the last days was the certainty that if Miss Philippa Sanders left his life, it would be immeasurably poorer.

Hell," he whispered. He swept her into his arms and leaned down to claim those plump, glistening lips. Her glorious taste thundered through him. Salty and tart like a mixture of green apples and the sea. He discovered without any real surprise that he'd craved the flavor of Charlotte Warren all his life. For