Quotes About Yearning

How dare you say it's nothing to me? Baby, you're the only light I ever saw.

Half of my heart's got a real good imagination, half of my heart's got you. . .Half of my hearts got a right mind to tell you that half of my heart won't do.

I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe. There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me.

And it's hard for me to take a stand When I would take her anyway I can.

Through the window the stones of the graveyard stood out beyond the laurels in the moon, all the dead about, lives as much filled with themselves and their importance once as you this night, indecision and trouble and yearning put down equal with laughing into that area of clay, and they lay calm as you would one eternal night while someone full of problems and uncertainties would lie as awake as you in a room.

So what do you think about love?' I asked Mesut in a casual tone. 'Love is to get caught on something,' he said readily. 'It's to be unable to forget.

I wondered if Ivan was asleep. It was terrible to think that he was in this city, possibly very nearby, but I couldn't see him or talk to him because he didn't love me. I couldn't be with him for one minute, not even for the weird leftover hours that nobody else wanted, like from one to three a.m. on a Wednesday.

At the same time, it seemed certain to me that someday I would really want to hear his voice and wouldn't be able to, and I would think back to the time that he had invited me to call him, and it would seem as incomprehensible as an invitation to speak to the dead.

At the same time, it seemed certain to me that someday I would really want to hear his voice and wouldn't be able to, and I would think back to the time that he had invited me to call him, and it would seem as incomprehensible as an invitation to speak to the dead.

There is nothing more mysterious, confounding, and unknowable, than the desires of the human heart.

There is nothing more mysterious, confounding, and unknowable, Eleanor thinks, than the desires of the human heart.

in that place men found themselves in when they needed bolstering? His sweet and pretty wife wasn't enough? His two healthy kids weren't enough? He needed more, he needed someone to worship him, someone to think he was a hero?

be missing her. He had to be thinking

I communed with myself, after the manner of prodigals, and said: "How much better that I were down in Denver, even at Mrs. Coney's, digging with a skewer into the corners seeking dirt which might be there, yea, even eating codfish, than that I should perish on this desert—of imagination." So I turned the current of my imagination and fancied that I was at home before the fireplace, and that the backlog was about to roll down.

My feet hurt, I was light-headed with stress and bad meals, and the idea of perhaps eating real food and sitting in a chair-- or even sleeping in a bed!-- sounded like bliss.

Paul's wanting does not hinge on anything other than the fact of me. This is an excellent trait in a man.

Why can't we fall in love--true and deep--without it being some huge threat to the working order of things? In another life Will and I might rip each others' clothes off with our teeth and make a whole new world out of entirely different problems. But this is not that life, and I get that.

I've spent my whole life reading beautiful books and watching beautiful movies, dreaming that there was some real place out there where I would fit and be beautiful, too.

I'm not greedy. I just want one person. The world is so big and there are so many people. But I only want one.

I'm not greedy I just want one person. The world is so big and there are so many people, but I only want one. I want to feel safe and happy with someone. What the heart chooses

Nostalgia is a narcotic.

Her Design was once more to engage him, to hear him sigh, to see him languish, to feel the strenuous Pressures of his eager Arms, to be compelled, to be sweetly forc'd to what she wished with equal Ardour, was what she wanted, and what she had form'd a Stratagem to obtain, in which she promis'd herself Success. SHE

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again, just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep-- Rock me to sleep, mother--rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears-- Toil without recompense, tears all in vain-- Take them, and give me my childhood again!