Quotes About Yearning

Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

Love is an illusion, but I would willingly fall for it if I could believe in it.

For I must get back my soul from you; I am killing my flesh without it.

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry. --from Withsun, written 14 February 1961

I felt sorry when I came to the last page. I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence.

I am in danger of wanting my personal absolute to be a demigod of a man, and as there aren't many around, I often unconsciously manufacture my own. and then, I retreat and revel in poetry and literature where the reward value is tangible and accepted. I really do not think deeply. really deeply. I want a romantic nonexistant hero.

I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her, and she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me

I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty.

I think I'm in love with missing you more than I'm in love with you.

Neurotic, ha! I let out a scornful laugh. If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want.

Something in me wants more. I can't rest.

I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love. I am still so naive; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

There I went again, building p a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few posy nothings.

It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.

You felt no reality. Only a weariness, a longing for a shoulder to sleep on, a pair of arms to curl up in — and a lack of that now.

Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen. - 10 January 1953

Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can! I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night...

Maybe it's my ego. Maybe I crave someone who will never be my rival.

I need someone real, who will be right for me now, here, and soon. Until then I'm lost. I think I am mad at times.

We danced about a mile apart the whole time, until during "Auld Lang Syne" he suddenly rested his chin on the top of my head as if he were very tired.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.