Quotes About Yearning

the body had

Never knew a man could be so…hungry for it.

I need to fuck you now, Jack. I want to be inside you. All night.

Good boy. I want you all to myself. Like I told you, I love you.

Lust makes cowards of us all.

What did I know about Bertrand, apart from the fact that his ass fit my dick like a glove?

Come on, Jack. Open your mouth and suck it.

Let's see you come again, Jack. This time with me inside you.

I believe every...man remembers the girl he thinks he should have married. She reappears to him in his lonely moments, or he sees her in the face of a young girl in the park, buying a snowball under an oak tree by the baseball diamond. But she belongs to back there, to somebody else, and that thought sometimes rends your heart in a way that you never share with anyone else.

What he wanted was something soft and fat and gentle, full of rounding sweet places to hide in.

James Leo Herlihy

It's what you thought you wanted, but what the heart desires isn't the same as what the heart needs.

Tomorrow night, if I come back, there'll be kisses. Lovely ones, Frank. Not drunken kisses. Kisses with dreams in them. Kisses that come from life, not death.

More of anything other than God will never fill that longing for fulfillment He has placed within you and me.

In our deepest longings we hear echoes of God's longing for us. And the more we can follow these deep-down desires, those that God places within us for our happiness, the more joyful we will find ourselves.

Our hearts cry out,

I yearned for the kind of unseasoned telling foundIn legends, fairy tales, a tone licked cleanOver the centuries by mild old tongues,Grandam to cub, serene, anonymous.

Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?

Kaz drifted off, lured by the thought of a book he hadn't yet met.

Though now, of all that could have been, there is nothing.

Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.

Things of the world try to connect. Prodigal rain issues from a sky into which trees rise like pleading hands. Days bear us lightly across the face of the world as every year the ground pulls harder, recalling like a spurned lover, ever more fixedly, how much it wants us.

I'm tired of my life, my clothes, the things I say. I'm hacking away at the surface, as at some kind of gray ice, trying to break through to what is underneath or I am dead. I can feel the surface trembling—it seems ready to give but it never does. I am uninterested in current events. How can I justify this? How can I explain it? I don't want to have the same vocabulary I've always had. I want something richer, broader, more penetrating and powerful.

I watched you while you were sleeping and you looked completely at peace. I wish I could feel that. I wish I could close my eyes and feel at peace. But I can't. I can't feel anything if I'm not with you, and even then all I can do is want something that I don't think I can ever have, at least not now. so I left this, and my peace, with you. Stark.