Quotes About Yearning

He longed for a dim-eyed little slut with a big, bright mouth and black vinyl underwear.

Today the clerk in the fancy deli next door asked me how I was, and I said, 'I have deep longings that will never be satisfied.

feel like the bright past is coming through the gray present and I want to look at it one more time.

Maybe it would be better to hold her winglike shadow safe in the lock of his memory than to touch the breathing girl and lose her.

Lucien! - Georgia

I get so lonely sometimes, I could put a box on my head and mail myself to a stranger.

clawing at my heart all these years.

i only know how to exist when i'm wanted.

All I know of love is hunger.

We need beauty because it makes us ache to be worthy of it.

It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.

because my life without you would be a place of parched and broken trees

Oh Lord of melons, of mercy, though I am not ready, nor worthy, I am climbing towards you.

Little Crazy Love Song" I don't want eventual, I want soon. It's 5 a.m. It's noon. It's dusk falling to dark. I listen to music. I eat up a few wild poems while time creeps along as though it's got all day. This is what I have. The dull hangover of waiting, the blush of my heart on the damp grass, the flower-faced moon. A gull broods on the shore where a moment ago there were two. Softly my right hand fondles my left hand as though it were you.

What kind of life is it always to plan and do, to promise and finish, to wish for the near and the safe? Yes, by the heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want a boat I couldn't steer.

Doesn't anybody in the world anymore want to get up in the middle of the night and sing?

All my life I have been restless- I have felt there is something more wonderful than gloss- than wholeness- than staying at home.

It is supposed that a writer writes what he knows about and knows well. It is not necessarily so. A writer's subject may just as well, if not more likely, be what the writer longs for and dreams about, in an unquenchable dream, in lush detail and harsh honesty.

I wanted to live my life but I didn't want to do what I had to do to go on

Did I actually reach out my arms toward it, toward paradise falling, like the fading of the dearest, wildest hope- the dark heart of the story that is all the reason for its telling?

For are we not all, at times, exactly like Poe's narrators—beating upon the confining walls of circumstance, the limits of the universe? In spiritual work, with good luck (or grace) we come to accept life's brevity for ourselves. But the lover that is in each of us—the part of us that adores another person—ah! That is another matter.

and the heart, if it is still alive, feels something— a yearning for which we have no name but which we may remember, years later, in the darkness, from "A Fox in the Dark

Love is the one thing the heart craves and love is the one thing you can't steal.

am not ready, nor worthy, I am climbing toward you.