Quotes About Yearning

Olive finished the doughnut, wiped the sugar from her fingers, sat back and said, "You're starving." The girl didn't move, only said, "Uh-duh." "I'm starving too," Olive said. The girl looked over at her. "I am," Olive said. "Why do you think I eat every doughnut in sight?" "You're not starving," Nina said in disgust. "Sure I am. We all are.

They had grown up on shame; it was the nutrient of their soil. Yet, oddly, it was her father she felt she understood the best. And for a moment Annie wondered at this, that her brother and sister, good, responsible, decent, fair-minded, had never known the passion that caused a person to risk everything they had, everything they held dear heedlessly put in danger—simply to be near the white dazzle of the sun that somehow for those moments seemed to leave the earth behind.

An ache stayed inside her. And a faint reverberating hum of something close to joy lived on the outer edges of her memory, some kind of longing that had been answered once and was simply not answered anymore.

A yearning stirred in him that was not sexual but a kind of reaching toward her simplicity of form. He

the sight of him then broke my heart. But I was used to that feeling—I had it almost every time after I saw him.

there was nothing to explain what he felt was happening to him, that he'd been put into a transparent plastic capsule that rose off the ground and was tossed and blown and shaken so fiercely that he could not possibly find his way back to the quotidian pleasures of his past life. Desperately, he did not want this.

They had never kissed, nor even touched, only passed by each other closely as they went into his office, a tiny cubicle off the library - they avoided the teachers' room. But after he said that that day, she lived with a kind of terror, and a longing that felt at times unendurable. But people endure things.

Isabelle, at different places and moments in the years to come, would sometimes be surrounded by silence and find in herself only the repeated word "Amy." "Amy, Amy"—for this was it, her heart's call, her prayer. "Amy," she would think, "Amy," remembering this day's chilly, golden air.

If she was up at the cash register and he was behind his counter, he could still feel the invisible presence of her against him <...> —their inner selves brushing up against the other.

But an ache stayed inside her. And a faint reverberating hum of something close to joy lived on the outer edges of her memory, some kind of longing that had been answered once and was simply not answered anymore.

Hello, Olive," he said, walking to her. He wanted to put his arms around her, but she had a darkness that seemed to stand beside her like an acquaintance that would not go away. He told her the Thibodeaus were coming for supper. "It's only right," he said. Olive wiped sweat from her upper lip, turned to rip up a clump of onion grass. "Then that's that, Mr. President," she said. "Give your order to the cook.

But after he said that that day, she lived with a kind of terror, and a longing that felt at times unendurable. But people endure things.

nostalgia. Jacobitism reflected a nostalgic yearning for a traditional social order in which everyone supposedly knew his or her preordained place and stayed in it. It satisfied a deep utopian longing for the perfect society—except that it looked backwards, rather than ahead, for its model of perfection.

Een mens wordt nu eenmaal meer bepaald door de liefde die hem is onthouden, dan door de liefde die hij kreeg.

I cannot sleep for dreaming; I cannot dream but I wake and walk about the house as though I'd find you coming through some door.

I have not moved from there to here without I think to please you, and still an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

How much of life could he spend aching? Aching is not a stable condition; it must resolve into something

I long for Europe of the ancient parapets.

What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.

True life is elsewhere

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes. Toute lune est atroce et tout soliel amer: L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes. Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j'aille à la mer!

I could never throw Love out of the window.