Quotes About Yearning

Olhos nublados fixaram olhos nublados e uma mulher luminosa abriu-se para um homem luminoso. Ela era ampla e profunda como um rio na cheia. Ele singrou suas águas. Ela sentia os movimentos dele mais e mais fundos dentro dela. Frenéticos. Furiosos. Pedindo para entrar mais fundo, Mais fundo. Limitados apenas pela forma dela. Pela forma dele. E quando foi detido, quando já tinha tocado o mais fundo dela, com um suspiro soluçado, trêmulo, ele se afogou.

Addiction has its own mnemonics – skin, smell, the length of the loved one's fingers.

Naga married Tilo because he was never really able to reach her. And because he couldn't reach her he couldn't let her go.

But the man I met--he is the love I had wanted to reach long before I knew that he existed, and I think he will remain beyond my reach, but that I love him will be enough to keep me living.

Three Plagues of nursing home existence: boredom, loneliness, and helplessness.

But in the end, I came to think, there was also something more vital and, in a certain way, poignant drawing us in.

I know the anger lies inside of me like I know the beat of my heart and the taste of my spit. It is easier to be furious than to be yearning. Easier to crucify myself in you than to take on the threatening universe of whiteness by admitting that we are worth wanting each other.

Out of my flesh that hungers and my mouth that knows comes the shape I am seeking for reason.

I knew what it was like to be haunted by the ghost of a self one wished to be, but only half-sensed.

I feel trapped on a lonely star.

And I knew when I entered her I was high wind in her forests hollow fingers whispering sound honey flowed from the split cup impaled on a lance of tongues on the tips of her breasts on her navel and my breath howling into her entrances through lungs of pain.

There was a pain in Muriel to become herself that engaged my heart. I knew what it was like to be haunted by the ghost of a self one wished to be, but only half-sensed. Sometimes her words both thrilled me and made me weep.

But this delectable creature in front of me was most certanly a girl, and I wanted her for my very own - my very own what, I did not know - but for my very own self.

I don't know how long I looked for Toni every day at noontime, sitting on the stoop. Eventually, her image receded into that place from which all my dreams are made.

she seeks me like roses in my mouth.

You should have held me tight. You should have grabbed me and held on.

I missed him so much that I had physical sensations of loss, all over my body. Like one minute I was missing an arm, the next my spleen. It was making me feel sick, like throwing up.

There is no shame in being hungry for another person. There is no shame in wanting very much to share your life with somebody.

What I really want is to sit next to someone on an L.L. bean blanket on the beach in the fall and drink coffee from the same mug. I don't want some rusty '73 Ford Pinto with a factory-defective gas tank that causes it to explode when its rear-ended in the parking lot of the supermarket. So why do I keep looking for Pintos?

How many of the things I fear or dread are actually things that I want?

It wasn't like he was holding me so much as trying to hold onto something.

I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn't deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention.

There just didn't seem to be anything to hold on to. We weren't going anywhere, and we weren't pulling away. We were just floating, suspended in liquid. And I guess I want more. And I don't know what he wants.

It terrified me to consider: What if, as a grown-up, I craved another body beside me as still as this one? What then?