Quotes About Yearning

She saw Henry look hungrily into Anne's face as they met in the dance. And in that moment she knew.

Collin sat on a marble bench, chaste white, funereal, carved with the words PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT. When he opened his arms for Nina, a guard hurried over. "Sir! I'm sorry—you can't sit there!

She had no idea how George delighted in her funny ways, or watched her through the window as she stood outside, finishing an apple or nibbling sunflower seeds. She did not register his glances, his quick inventory of her clothes, his pleasure in her face and wrists. She did not know his heart.

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit- man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!

I'm with you in Rockland in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night.

Not even the human imagination satisfies the endless emptiness of the soul.

Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky— 1958 Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

Who'll come lie down in the dark with me Belly to belly and knee to knee Who'll look into my hooded eye Who'll lie down under my darkened thigh?

Shit, Violence, bullets in the brain Unavailing. We're in too deep to pull out. Waiting for an orgasm, Mr. Baldwin? Yes, waiting for an orgasm that's all.

I am miserable now—not feeling unhappiness, just lack of life coming to me and coming out of me—resignation to getting nothing and seeking nothing, staying behind shell. The glare of unknown love, human, unhad by me,—the tenderness I never had. I don't want to be just a nothing, a sick blank, withdrawal into myself forever. I just want something, beside the emptiness I've carried around in me all my life.

Assuming I am mad (Ha!) god, how I must have suffered to go mad. And all the time I was calling to people to save me and no one put out his hand and held it. This is like suicide, only I am alive and looking out of this living death I can see the people weep and feel sorry. Alas, nobody even weeps. It's all a dream.

Freedom does that to people, he realizes. Once you've tasted it, ou never want to let go.

Lorsque je dormais loin de vous, Dans un rêve toujours le même, Je vous voyais à mes genoux Me dire chaque nuit : « Je t'aime ! » Maintenant que tu m'appartiens, Dans les bras chaque nuit je rêve Que tu pars, qu'un méchant t'enlève Et que je meurs quand tu reviens

He took a deep breath, as if he were taking the air from my own lungs and swallowing it for himself.

For the moment she was caught between the two worlds, neither one thing nor another. She would be sorry to let the former depart and yet she was longing for the latter to arrive: a new name and with it a new world and with it a new life.

She lifts her face in just such a way when she makes one of her playful comments that I am seized with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Not that I would give in to such an impulse, but it is there all the same.

ABSENCE, n. That which makes the heart grow fonder — of absence. Absence of mind is the cerebral condition essential to success in popular preaching. It is sometimes termed lack of sense.

HOPE, n. Desire and expectation rolled into one.

What do you want? Love. Well, love gets what she wants one way or another.

The hollowness in his chest, the tense yearning, the loneliness he braces against, every morning until he can immerse himself in work and forget. Not love. Something else, something with a power that endures. Not love, but a memory of love.

The absence of food doesn't make a man forsake hunger-it only makes him hungrier .

I thought of how much they all wanted to be free; how they went mad wanting their freedom; I began to wonder whether it was I that was mad because I was happy to be bound; whether I was alone in knowing that I could not live without the clamour of the voices within me.

To the starving man, bread is beautiful. To the homeless man, a roof is beautiful. To the drunkard, wine is beautiful. Only those who want for nothing else need find beauty in a lump of rock. "Stolicus

Nothing like being wanted, is there? Wanted by someone you want. Always seems like magic, that something can feel so good but cost nothing.