Quotes About Yearning

For the moment I can only cry out that I have lost my splendid mirage. Come back, come back, O glittering and white!

He lifted his arms to the crystaline, radiant sky. I know myself, he cried, but that is all.

I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.

How good to have things like this, to be worshipped again, to pretend to have a mystery!

He was in love with every pretty woman he saw now, their forms at a distance, their shadows on the walls.

I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets... I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without.

Another sigh came from the window-- quite a resigned sigh. 'She's life and hope and happiness, my whole world now.' He felt the quiver of a tear on his eyelid.

but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game

With people like us our home is where we are not.

Tom, I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic.

Their eyes met, locked, became wistful, and dreamy and beautiful.

But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.

Involuntarily I glanced seaward and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby, he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.

He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.

She told him in a dozen ways, of which the best was without words, how she had missed him. Her emotion reassured him, promised his anxious heart that everything would be all right.

Her hair, drawn back off her ears, brushed her shoulders in such a way that the face seemed to have just emerged from it, as if this were the exact moment when she was coming from a wood into clear moonlight. The unknown yielded her up; Dick wished she had no background, that she was just a girl lost with no address save the night from which she had come.

What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?

Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan scornful mouth smiled and I drew her up again, closer, this time to my face.

It had seemed as close as a star to the moon.

I'm afraid I'm in love with you and that's not the best thing that could happen.

He stretched out his arms towards the dark water in a curious way, and,far as I was from him I could have sworn he was trembling involuntarily I glanced seaward - and distinguishing nothing except a single green light, minute and faraway, that might have been the end of a dock.

You're not in love with me. You never wanted to marry me, did you?' 'It was the twilight,' he said wonderingly.

He drew her very tenderly close and their lips met like starved hearts.

And she wanted for a moment to hold and devour him, wanted his mouth, his ears, his coat collar, wanted to surround him and engulf him…