Quotes About Yearning

Because you can want and want and want..But if he doesn't want you back...you might as well wish the sky were red.

She somehow understands that I have to know how Seb is, because I feel this strange, inextricable link to him. Which isn't a relationship-- God, of course not. We're not even friends, really. It's just... it's a different kind of thing. A yearning. A tugging in my heart. A need to be with him and know that he's OK. I mean, what would you call that?

I've seen bright, intelligent girls, waiting and hoping…" She shakes her head. "They know deep down he'll never come back." "So why do they hope?" I can't help asking. "Because it's human nature to hope for impossible things.

All I can say is, she's the one I think about." Margaret pauses, and her voice softens as she reads. "All the time. She's the voice I want to hear. She's the face I hope to see." My throat is full of lumps. I'm swallowing desperately, trying to keep my composure. He's the one I think about. All the time. He's the voice I want to hear. When my phone bleeps, I hope it's him.

We're sinking into each other's gazes. We're like starving people gorging on cream cakes. But he's challenged me, and I'm not going to wuss out, no way. So I wrench myself away and go to pester a strange blond woman about the circus. I don't look back once, the entire time I'm talking to her. But I can feel his eyes on me all the time. Like sunshine.

He's the one I think about. All the time. He's the voice I want to hear. When my phone bleeps, I hope it's him. "Who

I want him. Desperately. Even I simultaneously know that a lot of things I might want in life are not good choices.

It was nice to want you so badly it made me breathless yet at the same time hate myself.

knight in shining armor is not a realistic option. But there's a part of me that wants a huge, amazing romance. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. I want an earthquake, or a Ã¢â'¬Â¦ I don't know, a huge whirlwind Ã¢â'¬Â¦ something exciting. Sometimes I feel as if there's this whole new, thrilling life waiting for me out there, and if I can just—

He pauses to stretch out his fingers and I'm suddenly transfixed by his hands. Hands which used to roam over me, caress me, make love to me. I know how much emotional intelligence is in those hands. I know how he balances thoughtful, cerebral caution with audacious risk-taking, all without a flicker.

At this point, I felt a sudden pang. A yearning to climb up into the tree house again. To lie down on the smooth wooden boards, gaze up at the sky through the open windows and just... remember. But I chose to ignore it. If you listened to every pang, you wouldn't get anywhere in life.

You're in love with impossibility

We long to have again the vanished past, in spite of all its pain.

Oh my love take me there. Let me dwell where you are. I am already nothing, I am already burning. Oh my love, I was once part of you—take me too!

Not long now: the blazing dream of my head is crawling out.

What love, what call of the heart can touch my ears with joy? Nothing, friends.

Not the shape of one I loved. The ashes of a ghost.

Yes, if you can, but you're in love with impossibility.

A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffrings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music. People corwd around the poet and say to him: Sing for us soon again; that is as much to say, May new sufferings torment your soul.

I am convinced that God is love, this thought has for me a primitive lyrical validity. When it is present to me, I am unspeakably blissful, when it is absent, I long for it more vehemently than does the lover for his object.

The more he needs God, the more deeply he comprehends he is in need of God, and then the more he in his need presses forward to God, the more perfect he is... To need God is nothing to be ashamed of but is perfection itself.

Just as in earthly life lovers long for the moment when they are able to breath forth their love for each other, to let their souls blend in a soft whisper, so the mystic longs for the moment when in prayer he can, as it were, creep into God

The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have.

We are in the world where the longing mountains are the most grounded.