Quotes About Yearning

eyes fixed on her as though she were the first sign of land after months at sea.

she echoed with longing, like struck crystal.

Still, there was something he'd wanted to know for some time now, and he found he couldn't deny himself this particular opportunity. Very gently, almost stealthily, he leaned forward and rested the backs of his fingers against Susannah's cheek. He regretted it instantly. For her skin was every bit as soft as he'd dreamed.

He reached out and drew his finger lightly from her ankle right up the curve of her calf. When his finger reached the crook of her knee, he stopped. Astonished to see it there. Silently, a little frantically, he considered excuses: An insect was crawling up your stocking, Susannah. I was checking to see if you were injured, Susannah. I was--- Don't stop. It was her voice. Husky, abstracted. And the words roared like a brushfire over his senses.

She turned to him as though he were the sun and she a sunflower.

And she reached out with trembling fingers and touched one of the roses. It was, surprisingly... unconscionably soft. A message was sent along with it, Miss Genevieve. Harriet handed over the sheet of folded foolscap, closed with a blob of wax. No seal was pressed into it. Genevieve slid her finger beneath it to break the seal. 'My esteemed Venus- These reminded me of you. In my dreams, your lips are just this soft. - Your devoted servant, Mars

Love.' What a wilderness of pain, of yearning, of loss could be contained in that word. Patient and kind nonsense, is how Lady Fennimore had put it. Love wasn't for cowards; he wondered if it was for the wise. He supposed love itself made you stupid at first, or no one, no one would ever fall in love at all.

When she drew near, the rich musk of him wrapped her again: shaving soap, ale, and that delicious, darker something--- him . It might as well have been opium for what it did to the run of her thoughts.

But you'd sell your soul for it, wouldn't you? For one day of feeling beautiful.

Come to me Elizabeth. Let me make you mine...

Nicholaa?" His voice was a bare whisper. "Yes?" she whispered back. "You belong with me.

You're the most confusing woman," he whispered on a sigh. "God help me, I do love you, though.

She said she didn't want rice. She didn't want anything anymore. Not a thing. But every once in a while she got a faraway look in her eyes and he knew she was thinking of some other place. A better place. Just once, she told him, I'd like to look out the window and see the sea.

She does not remember saying to you, the other night, right after your father left the room, He loves me more than I love him. She does not remember saying to you, a moment later, I can hardly wait until he comes back.

It did not seem possible, much as he craved the comfort of a woman of intelligence, of humor and balance and perception.

There is something absent in me, I thought. Something incomplete. Even my mother couldn't describe me. There was something empty in me that in other people was full.

I had just wanted to be part of a story; I wanted to be a person who had a story to tell.

Damn it, Lettie. Marry me. For pity's sake, marry me and put me out of my misery.

I cannot have you as my mistress. I though I could, but I can't. I want you for more than that. I want you for life, waking and sleeping. You see what happens when I let you out of my sight? This. It won't do, I tell you. You'll have to accept me because I can't live without you. So there.

If she were here I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her. I would hold her so close she'd beg me to let her breathe. I'd kiss her so hard she'd plead for mercy. I'd unfasten her clothing and lie with her on that hard bed, and what was between us would be as far above the ordinary congress between man and woman as the stars are above their pale reflections in the lake below.

You thought you'd never give up your vocation, a voice whispered inside me. You thought you'd never even consider it. But you've met the one man who could change your mind. He is your perfect complement. He is Cathal to your Clodagh; he is Bran to your Liadan. No wonder you conjured up those images. No wonder they make you weep.

Don't you long for something different to happen, something so exciting and new it carries you along with it like a great tide, something that lets your life blaze and burn so the whole world can see it? Something that touches you with joy or with terror, that lifts you out of your safe, little path and onto a great, wild road whose ending nobody knows? Don't you ever long for that?

At the end of the parapet, a long black coat lay neatly folded on the wall. At the other end stood my sister and her lover. Tati's arms were wound around Sorrow's neck, her body pressed close to his, as if she would melt into him. His hands were enlaced in my sister's long hair as he strained her slight form against him, white on black. Their eyes were closed; their lips clung; they were lost in each other. It was beautiful and powerful. It was impossible.

I could not imagine living away from Sevenwaters, away from all that was so much a part of me. Maybe, if you cared enough about someone, you could do it and not feel your spirit torn in two. But the forest keeps her hold on all those who are born there, and they cannot travel far without the yearning in them to return.