Quotes About Yearning

Leaving him was less like leaving even the most simple of her friends in Flaw Valleys, and more like losing unfinished a manuscript, beautiful, absorbing and difficult, which she had long wanted to read.

Francis Crawford's face in this fleeting moment of privacy was filled with ungovernable feeling: of shock and of pain and of a desire beyond bearing: the desire of the hart which longs for the waterbrook, and does not know, until it sees the pool under the trees, for what it has thirsted.

It seems we are sparing no cliché. You impertinent oaf of a schoolboy.… It's because you can't have Francis Crawford that you want me. That's all.

I have lost you before I have found you.

Oh, Marigold!" Lymond spoke plaintively. "A silken tongue, a heart of cruelty. Don't berate us. We're only poor scoundrels—vagabonds—scraps of society; unlettered and untaught.

I am in love-desire, and unless you take me now, I shall fall in pieces...but I do not think I can be moderate. Forgive me, forgive me...' But her breathing was as changed now as his, and all order retreating before the strength of the living force beating about them. She pressed the latch, and set the last door to lie open. 'Khush geldi: welcome: thou art come happily,' she said gently, and let him come, where he belonged, within her gouvernance.

There was no place for him there or in Scotland, compared to the one he held in Russia. And although Diccon Chancellor once had thought, wistfully, of a land where likeminded friends might meet and might talk and might make new and astounding discoveries, free of fear, he knew that it was not to be found yet in England.

He did not know, but could be told, that to her, his reasons for abstaining were baseless. That nothing mattered but this: that the moon was here, in her fingers.

He had not moved. But, her blue eyes on his face, she did not rise. 'Lord, is there nothing in the cup for me? While you were drinking, I was singing to you.' The detachment had gone from his face, but not the strength. He shook his head; and rising, Marthe turned and walked from the room.

There was nothing casual about the blue eyes fixed on the downbent blue gaze of the child. Francis Crawford's face in this fleeting moment of privacy was filled with ungovernable feeling: of shock and of pain and of a desire beyond bearing: the desire of the hart which longs for the waterbrook, and does not know, until it sees the pool under the trees, for what it has thirsted.

Yet no woman had ever so stirred his blood; she had only to look or speak to make the very bones shake in his body.

Where's the man that could ease a heart like a satin gown?

Why is it no one sent me yet one perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get one perfect rose.

I wish, I wish I were a poisonous bacterium.

Little Words When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf, Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds; And I can only stare, and shape my grief In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown The bitter woe that racks my cords apart. The weary pen that sets my sorrow down Feeds at my heart. There is no mercy in the shifting year, No beauty wraps me tenderly about. I turn to little words- so you, my dear, Can spell them out.

Please don't let me hope, dear God. Please don't. I

My Own Then let them point my every tear, And let them mock and moan; Another week, another year, And I'll be with my own Who slumber now by night and day In fields of level brown; Whose hearts within their breasts were clay Before they laid them down.

No. No games. He wanted her and didn't care who knew it. He definitely and absolutely wanted her, longed for her, wanted to do more things than there were names for with her.

Aberystwyth (n.) A nostalgic yearning which is in itself more pleasant than the thing being yearned for.

Åžimdi ölmek istemiyorum! diye ba??rd?.Hala ba??m aÄŸr?yor!Cennete baÅŸ aÄŸr?s?yla gitmek istemiyorum,bütün aksiliÄŸim üstümde olacak ve Cennet'in tad?n? ç?karamayaca??m!

Bianchi lenzuoli irlandesi, appena inamidati, puliti, stirati, ben rimboccati - questi aggettivi erano per lui come una litania di desiderio. Da secoli nulla l'aveva attratto come ora le lenzuola. Non riusciva assolutamente a concepire come si potesse desiderare qualcos'altro. Lenzuola. E dormire. Dormire e lenzuola. Dormire nelle lenzuola. Dormire.

If you wanted quick sex or a dirty fix or, God help you, a hamburger, that was where you went to get it. Here

A magician wandered along the beach, but no one needed him.

If only... the two most miserable words in the English language. If only.