Quotes About Yearning

I put my hand on the mastodon of his buoyant hand, which was resting, now, as a swimmer at the end of a stroke may glide, may glide, desire, desire, rest, desire.

Sleep and dream—but not of his return.

I was not the one he wanted to rise from or return to

I do not let go of him yet, but hold the string and watch my idea of him pull away and stay, and pull away, my silver kite.

next to some people something walks, like a starveling, sometimes for a lifetime.

and some young men loved them the way one would want, oneself, to be loved.

And they do not know language, they are waiting for him

I called for him through solid earth until he woke, and left.

We can't make love out here. It's freezing!" Maryanne cried. A boyishly beseeching look lit up his eyes. "We would heat up quickly." "It's fine for you," she protested. "You only need one part of your body, and you'll be sliding that into warmth.

I didn't forget you. To this day, I have yet to walk through an airport without looking for your face, and every time it snows, I remember what it felt like to kiss you.

She was smiling as she leaned toward Reed, who stooped down to put his lips against her ear. He would tell her that he wanted to travel to Merendon, or Marring Cross or Cranfield, someplace far away and exotic. He was the sort of man whose wish altered every year. He said in a voice that only she could hear: "I wish you were not my sister." She pulled back and stared up at him. He smiled, his face just faintly touched with sadness, and tossed his true-love into the fire.

With him, I have hope. With you, I have only love. It is not enough. (Lilith) I have love, but no hope. I cannot tell which is worse. (Aubrey)

Perhaps I will someday. When there is nothing left in my own world that pleases me.' 'Then you will never visit, for you are a girl who will always find pleasure in something.

But don't you want that?" [Corene] asked, and even she could hear the wistfulness in her voice. "Love? Someone who waits for you at the door, someone whose day isn't complete unless she sees your face? Someone who will love you even when you're angry, even when you're ugly, even when you don't love yourself? Doesn't everybody want that?

I was Amazement--I was Desire--I was Ecstasy and Rapture and the slightest bit of Greed.

She walked as if she had nothing in mind but her destination—or something beyond it—staring ahead with Mama's elongated black eyes, glossy with a kind of circumspect longing.

Then he reached out and squeezed my hand; I stiffened in response to the unfamiliar gesture. When he relaxed his grip, his palm quaked against mine. Both yearning and pathetic, this act stunned me. Baba had not done more than clap a shoulder—or perhaps straighten my jacket or smooth a hair into place—in the last thirteen years.

It was the highest praise I could expect, and I felt grateful though I longed for him to say he loved me too.

At the end of the day, the only thing you'll sigh over after making a poet fall for you is that you could not become his first love.

You know how people are, always wanting the one thing they can't have.

It's that...what I want isn't what I need.

Stay where I can taste you. Take the pleasure I give you.

You haven't touched me, and I'm already unfocused.:

What I want, isn't what I need...