Quotes About Yearning

One feeling at least grows stronger in me with each year that passes—a longing to see the cranes. At this time of year I stand on a hill and watch the sky. Today they did not come. There were only wild geese. Geese would be beautiful if cranes did not exist.

And this is how I would remember it all, if I could. But I can't.

But if nostalgia means the powerful recollection of strong emotions—and a regret that such feelings are no longer present in our lives—then I plead guilty.

But if nostalgia means the powerful recollection of strong emotions—and a regret that such feelings are no longer present in our lives—then I plead guilty . . . And if we're talking about strong feelings that will never come again, I suppose it's possible to be nostalgic about remembered pain as well as remembered pleasure. And that opens up the field, doesn't it?

At a social event she and I would normally have attended together, an acquaintance came up and said to me, simply, "There's someone missing." That felt correct, in both senses.

Perhaps Goethe never found the right woman.

She'd been imagining for the last fifteen or more years that if you disappeared, if you abandoned a wife and child, you did so for a better life: more happiness, more sex, more money, more of whatever was missing from your previous life.

The other half wanted to say, I love you, come away with me, sit on my knee, I'll always remember you. You so full of your past, me so full of my future.

specific fund, you see. It's a sort of general fund. Because at some point everyone wants to run away from their life. It's about the only thing human beings have in common.

When you're young—when I was young—you want your emotions to be like the ones you read about in books. You want them to overturn your life, create and define a new reality.

Cu toata c? majoritatea oamenilor s-au simÈ›it cît se poate de nefericiÈ›i in perioada cît au fost îndr?gostiÈ›i, aceasta este starea dup? care fiinÈ›a uman? tînjeÈ™te mai presus de toate.

How many of us, having cried bitter, rancid tears over a failed love, are actually disappointed when we discover, seeing the adored one again, that all trace of their power over us is gone? How often one has resisted the freedom-giving knowledge that they have actually begun to irritate us as that seems like the worst kind of disloyalty to our own dreams. No, while most people have been at their unhappiest when in love, it is nevertheless the state the human being yearns for above all.

No, while most people have been at their unhappiest when in love, it is nevertheless the state the human being yearns for above all.

Aunque la mayoría de las personas son más desgraciadas cuando están enamoradas, no deja de ser el estado en el que más desea estar el ser humano

As the stag pants after the waterbrooks, So pants my mind after you, O gods! My mind thirsts for gods! for living gods! When shall I come face to face with gods? —Psalm 42

even a poisoned, desolate childhood can be missed.

Siente él lo mismo que ella, un torbellino persistente que le aporrea el corazón? Con todo lo que ha perdido, lo único que sabe ahora es que a él no puede perderlo...en la vida.

And I knew that I loved him with more than a nod. I loved him with a rush of tenderness, a lion's share. (Is that ever enough?) I wanted to survive. I had to. I never called.

She let him go once. Every day demands that she release him over and over again. She clenches her fists and thinks, Will he find me again? And she tells herself, No. Don't want this. Let him go.

You are my dream, Cynthia.

Their faces were inches apart now, and he traced her lips with one finger, lightly, lightly, then placed his lips there as if he'd drawn them into being.

I couldn't see it because you are my heart, damn you! And how can I see my own heart if it's beating in my own chest?

He was older, bolder. He knew of whores and wars, violence and vendettas. He knew precisely what he wanted, always. He wanted her.

She most definitely had an instinct for passion, an instinct that matched his own, that had nearly caused him to lose his head. Well, now he knew her skin was petal smooth; he knew the rich wine of her mouth; he knew the feel of that delicate, puckered nipple rubbed against his cheek---