Quotes About Yearning

he had never been alone with a jeune fille. It was a great moment; poor Rosier began to pat his forehead again. There was another room beyond the one in which they stood—a small room that had been thrown open and lighted, but that, the company not being numerous, had remained empty all the evening. It was empty yet; it was upholstered in pale yellow; there were several lamps; through the open door it looked the very temple of authorised love.

I want to get more familiar with you. I love you. I loved you when you came and sat on the bed--all that second afternoon was like warm mist--and I hear again the way you say my name--with that queer accent of yours. You arouse in me such a mixture of feelings, I don't know how to approach you. Only come to me--get closer and closer to me. It will be beautiful, I promise you.

I wanted a metamorphosis, a change to fish, to leviathan, to destroyer. I wanted the earth to open up, to swallow everything in one engulfing yawn. I wanted to see the city buried fathoms deep in the bosom of the sea. I wanted to sit in a cave and read by candlelight. I wanted that eye extinguished so that I might have a chance to know my own body, my own desires. I wanted to be alone for a thousand years in order to reflect on what I had seen and heard - and in order to forget.

She may be lying in bed reading a book, she may be making love with a prize fighter, or she may be running like mad through a field of stubble, one shoe one, one shoe off, a man named Corn Cob pursuing her hotly. Wherever she is I am standing in complete darkness; her absence blots me out.

Your nearness is the nearness of planets. I am the void between you. If I withdraw there will be no void for you to swim in.

It was the end for me. And yet not an end. In all the years which have since elapsed she remains the woman I loved and lost, the unattainable one [...] I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the man in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable. —Henry Miller, Stand Still like the Hummingbird (1962)

I couldn't allow myself to think about her very long; if I had I would have jumped off the bridge. It's strange. I had become so reconciled to this life without her, and yet if I thought about her only for a minute it was enough to pierce the bone and marrow of my contentment and shove me hack again into the agonizing gutter of my wretched past.

He looks about the room at the few sticks of furniture, at the dirty bed sheets and the wash basin with the dirty water still in it, and he says: I am a slave! Every day he says it, not once, but a dozen times. And then he takes his guitar from the wall and sings.

Maybe I only thought I was in love. Maybe I was simply hungry, lonely, a clay pigeon any one could put away with a toy pistol.

Wine isn't strong enough. It's blood I want.

The universe has dwindled; it is only a block long and there are no stars, no trees, no rivers. The people who live there are dead; they make chairs which other people sit on in their dreams. In the middle of the street is a wheel and in the hub of the wheel a gallows is fixed. People already dead are trying frantically to mount the gallows, bu the wheel is turning too fast

I wandered aimlessly through this muddy lane bespattered with blood, fragments of the past detached themselves and floated listlessly before my eyes, taunting me with the direst forebodings [...] My world of human beings had perished; I was utterly alone in the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery, yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort

He falls on her lap and lies there quivering like a toothache

I know we were conjugating the verb love like two maniacs trying to fuck through an iron gate.

Para o homem que trabalha nas estrebarias e cuja função é varrer o esterco, o terror supremo é um mundo sem cavalos

One doesn't want appreciation... one wants response. To tell you the truth, I don't know what I want of you, or of anybody for that matter. I want more than I get, that's all I know. I want you to step out of your skin - I want everybody to strip down, not just to the flesh, but the soul.

No stone was laid upon· another with love or reverence; no street was laid for dance or joy. One thing has been added to another in a mad scramble to fill the belly, and the streets smell of empty bellies and full bellies and bellies half full. The streets smell of a hunger which has nothing to do with love; they smell of thc belly which is insatiable and of the creations of the cmpty helly which are null and void.

todas las miradas anhelantes que dediqué a los edificios y estatuas, los había mirado tan ansiosa, tan desesperadamente, que ahora mis pensamientos deben de haberse convertido en parte integrante de los propios edificios y estatuas, éstos deben de estar saturados con mi angustia.

How a man can wonder all day in an empty belly, and even get an erection once in a while, is one of those mysteries which are too easily explained by the anatomists of the soul.

He`s put a fence around her as if she were a dirty, stinking bone of a saint. If he only had the courage to say Take her! perhaps a miracle would occur.

Es extraño. Había llegado a resignarme tanto a aquella vida sin ella y, sin embargo, si pensaba en ella sólo por un minuto, era suficiente para traspasar el hueso y la médula de mi conformidad y arrojarme de nuevo al canal agonizante de mi lastimoso pasado.

My world of human beings has perished; I was utterly alone in the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery, yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort.

Ah, Tania, nerede ÅŸimdi senin o s?cak yar???n, o kal?n ve a??r jartiyerlerin, yumuÅŸak ve dolgun uyluklar?n? On beÅŸ santim uzunluÄŸunda bir kemik var kam???mda. Dölümle doldurup ütüleyeceÄŸim am?ndaki her k?r???kl???, Tania. Karn?nda sanc?yla ve rahmin ters yüz edilmiÅŸ halde göndereceÄŸim seni Sylvester'a.

La atmósfera está saturada de desastres, frustración, futilidad. Rascarse y rascarse... hasta que no quede piel. Sin embargo su efecto en mí es estimulante. En lugar de desanimarme, o deprimirme, disfruto. Pido a gritos cada vez más desastres, calamidades mayores, fracasos más rotundos. Quiero ver el mundo escacharrado, quiero que todo el mundo se rasque hasta morir.