Quotes About Yearning

He has been trying to sing Love into existence again And he has failed.

How potent was that word. With. He could never get used to her, she was fresh every time, she was a casketful of secrets. Any moment now she would open herself up, reveal to him the essential thing, the hidden thing at the core of life, or of her life, or of his life – the thing he was longing to know. The thing he'd always wanted. What would it be?

Do you hunger for me, do you burn for me

In queste occasioni leggo velocemente, con voracità, saltando qualche parola e cercando di riempirmi la testa il più possibile prima di un nuovo, lungo periodo di astinenza. Se fossero un genere commestibile queste letture smorzerebbero l'ingordigia dell'affamato, se fossero sesso equivarrebbero a un veloce amplesso furtivo, in qualche vicolo.

At first I was given centuries to wait in caves, in leather tents, knowing you would never come back

she'd have been gnawing her way through his bedroom walls to sink her avid fingers into his youthful flesh.

A romantika valahol a középtávolban zajlik. A romantika nem más, mint benézni önmagadhoz harmattól párás ablakon át. A romantika nem más, mint kihagyni bizonyos dolgokat: ahol az élet röfög és szortyog, ott a romantika csak sóhajt.

Part of the life she should have had is just a gap, it isn't there, it's nothing.

She was something of his own that he had lost.

Is that all there is? they must be thinking. Shouldn't it be less ordinary, more sordid, more epic, more truly harrowing, this flesh wound of your? Tell us more! Couldn't we please crank up the pain?

I am in love with his need

But what if she discovers the truth? What he suspects is the truth. That he's patchwork, a tin man, his heart stuffed with sawdust. He thinks of her waiting for him, somewhere else, an island, subtropical, not muggy, her long hair waving in the sea breeze, a red hibiscus tucked behind one ear. If he's lucky she'll wait till that happens, till he can get there to be with her.

But now here they are, right in front of me. It's like seeing unicorns. I want to hear them purr.

What would that be like - to long, to yearn for someone who is right there before your eyes, day in and day out?

What he couldn't have in life he might still catch sight of through his art: just a glimpse, from the corner of his eye

Hungry, and also sad. Maybe sadness was a kind of hunger, she thought. Maybe the two went together.

The times when she was away were hard for Jimmy. He worried about her, he longed for her, he resented her for not being there.

But all my love ever came to was a bad end. Red-hot shoes, barrels studded with nails. That's what it feels like, unrequited love. She had a baby, too. I was never allowed. Everything you ever wanted, I wanted also.

I don't want to be left by myself in this room. The walls are too empty, there are no pictures on them nor curtains on the little high-up window, nothing to look at and so you look at the wall, and after you do that for a time, there are pictures on it after all, and red flowers growing.

What I miss is what she'd say. What she would have said.

I swam, the sea was boundless, I saw no shore. Tanit was merciless, my prayers were answered. O you who drown in love, remember me. —INSCRIPTION ON A CARTHAGINIAN FUNERARY URN

The bad bones have been bad, so they are better left unsaid. They are better left unsaying. But they were never happy, they always wanted more, they were always hungry. They can smell the words, the words coming out of your mouth all warm and yeasty. They want some words of their own. They'll be back.

He would like to get out of his own body for a while; he'd like to be somebody else.

I let him go, without a word about any other meeting, though he was the one thing I wanted to keep: I wanted him in my bed all night, asleep on my pillow, and I might have had him, but I said nothing.