Quotes About Yearning

I was in love with loving.

To Carthage I came, where all about me resounded a caldron of dissolute loves.

I am yearning for love, yearning for a girl poor of heart who loves me, her hand is trembling on a blue treetop, in order to yearn for my love, always at a high place, is trembling with gentle feeling.

The fresh green and fragrant winds of a May morning make an aristocrat of my life. Under a dripping sky-blue window, I would like to ply forks of pure silver with a woman I love. Someday, once in my life, I would like to steal and eat that love-plate of skylarks, which gleams in the sky.

A part of my depression lies, I think, in my unanswered question: Where is home? I feel a sense, always, of trying to find my way back to a place that doesn't exist.

You too are cast in sadness thicker than stone, heavier than water,' she says. 'It ties you, like me, to this leaden earth.' I lean forward and kiss her. 'Only in dreams,' she says, 'can we be ourselves, uncaged, wild of spirit. Here I am free to climb a tree and find a boy with eyes as sad as mine.

Repulsion is the sentry that guards the gate to all that we most desire.

He tratado de entregarte, para que tú lo retuvieras en tu puño, para que lo acogieras en tu pecho, junto a tu corazón desfalleciente, el significado de un instante: el instante en el que por la amplitud de mi deseo, supe que eras mía.

Avui el cel és ja només ofec, buidor, ploguda nit al mar, al camp, dolenta mà. Com que no puc mai més dormir, faig del meu llit por de presó.

I don't know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.

Missing you is worse than Pittsburgh.

And although Margarita lived in a world that predated Technicolor, she always dreamed of the boy in rich pastels.

Unrequited love is bad, but unrequitable love can really get you down.

Malo es el amor no correspondido; pero lo que verdaderamente puede hundirlo a uno es el amor no correspondible.

I've been in love and you'll never know

Moi Aussi I need to know you even as I never know my self that phantom ache of amputated innocence You, the stirrings of a curtain, dust settling on sepia cuckoo clocks covers obscuring Perhaps one day you will become a benign sentence an agency through which to be. Return

I . . . cannot fall asleep because there is a foreign feeling in my veins, it is the feeling of finally getting what I wanted, and the feeling is colder than I ever thought it would be.

It seems the loneliest place in the world for something so lovely.

We were tired of living in a house.

Some nights I want Jude so badly I imagine I am giving birth to him.

I want things so bad that I force them, push them until they tear.

My heart is empty. But my brain - my brain is full. It races with thoughts of what could have been.

she was a different person when she sang. Her singing was a deep, yearning subconscious desire to go back to a time when the Nepali identity wasn't sullied by external forces.

Or I might be able to catch one, a little girl for example, and half strangle her, three quarters, until she promises to give me my stick, give me soup, empty my pots, kiss me, fondle me, smile to me, give me my hat, stay with me, follow the hearse weeping into her handkerchief, that would be nice. I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?