Quotes About Yearning

Do you ever think about makin' love to me?" He slides off a sock before I even answer his question. "Yes," she answers. "Do you think about making love with me?" I lie awake most nights, fantasizing about sleeping next to her…loving her. "Right now, muñeca , makin' love to you is the only thing on my mind.

If I skip about, it's with my eyes fixed on your flesh and bones.

All sins are attempts to fill voids.

Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness.

What exactly she was thinking I never knew. Perhaps of the crop and the whole day's stoking lost. Perhaps of the stranger who had come with his cornet for a day, and then as meaninglessly gone again. For she had been listening too, and she may have understood. A harvest, however lean, is certain every year; but a cornet at night is golden only once. (Cornet at Night)

It's all a hold up anyway-- money, body, brains. Do you think anybody's ever satisfied with what he's got a right to?

You can decorate absence however you want- but your still gonna feel what's missing.

Nothing ever breaks the heart, besides what it loves.

Sometimes we hope for what we left behind.

We simply love, but love is hardly reciprocated.

Of Paradise I cannot speak properly, for I have not been there; and that I regret.

Nay, tempt me not to love again: There was a time when love was sweet; Dear Nea! had I known thee then, Our souls had not been slow to meet! But oh! this weary heart hath run So many a time the rounds of pain, Not even for thee, thou lovely one! Would I endure such pangs again.

They flee from me, that sometime did me seekWith naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

As you came from the holy landOf Walsinghame,Met you not with my true LoveBy the way as you came?

Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me?(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow, waly!)

It's a song of a merryman, moping mum,Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,As he sighed for the love of a lady.

Una mujer sentada junto a la ventana. Piensa / y mientras piensa, desespera / desespera por ser quien es / y no otra persona.

Sometimes even now I think I see him in the street or standing in a window or bent over a book in a coffee shop. And in that instant, before I understand that it's someone else, my lungs tighten and I lose my breath.

Distortion is part of desire. We always change the things we want.

Desire is the engine of life, the yearning that goads us forward with stops along the way, but it has no destination, no final stop, except death.

The misery I felt was grief. I wanted her back, my old self.

All wishes, however wrongheaded, however great or noble or ephemeral, must have an object, and that object is usually more ideal than real.

Perhaps I wished for something rather than nothing--a smack of passion to make me believe I was really there for him, not missing. And then the blow rises up from imaginary depths. When there is nothing, the phantoms come up to fill the emptiness. It is not true that nothing comes of nothing. There is always something.

I love clothes and have often pined for them - the beautiful dress or coat in the window. My desire is for the transformation I imagine will take place, a kind of enchantment of my own body.