Quotes About Yearning

She reached out her arms to Blackie. The beautiful siren was calling her weary sailor safely to port.

I felt betrayed and absolutely livid, but my body wasn't smart enough to know it. It had liked the feel of his hands, wanted more of it, wanted it now. It was almost like there were two of me, one who heartily approved of the mage and one who would have dearly loved to see him dead.

Kiss me....Cassie....Like you mean it.

Damn it, the man needed a keeper. Yeah, sure he did. A dark-haired, dimpled, dhampir keeper, which wasn't going to happen, so just shut up. Sometimes I didn't think it mattered what Mircea did in my head, because I was already crazy anyway. "It's like someone invented you just to mess with me," I said resentfully. "Quoi?" I sighed.

It should have really ticked me off—the conceit of it, the more than a hint of possession, the presumption that he could just walk into my bathroom anytime he liked and— And I didn't care. I wanted to turn in to the feel of those hands,wanted to sink into all that warmth, wanted to preen like a cat being stroked, wanted— Wanted. And it scared the hell out of me.

Pritkin kissed like he did everything else, straightforward, accepting no prisoners and with an intensity that left me breathless. It was hot and hard and desperate, like he was starving for it, and I opened my mouth and took it, because, God .

She looked at him. He saw her tendrils of damp hair. He looked off, but he had never felt this thing so deep before, this need to speak, to say how far he had been swept from what is good, and the sense seemed doubtful and unmanly.

I swear, I'm gonna have to lock you up. I'd chain you to my bed, except I'm seldom in it.

Staff silenced her with a hot kiss. "Hush," he whispered, taking her closer into his arms. "Mary, we have waited long enough. I want you, dearest, to make up for the lonely hours, and countless advice, and worry that your kings and cursed father would totally ruin our life together. And for the wasted years. Tonight, Mary, we are going to begin catching up-and it will take a long, long time for us to be even...

Tell me what you want, my love," he rasped through parted lips. "Tell me now." "You, Staff, you. Forever and always. Please." "Only Staff?" "Yes, yes. Please, my love. Put out the fire." "But first I have to fan it brighter," he said low, and moved into her instantly.

How you can already miss someone when you are in the same room with them, I have no idea. But I do.

This is what I am. A vault of secrets. They flutter inside my chest like caged birds, wanting to take flight but afraid to fly.

I have a hunger, for more than food. I have a hunger bigger than Joyce City. I want tongues to tie, and eyes to shine at me like they do at Mad Dog Craddock. Course they never will, not with my hands all scarred up, looking like the earth itself, all parched and rough and cracking, but if I played right enough, maybe they would see past my hands. Maybe they could feel at ease with me again, and maybe then, I could feel at east with myself.

I don't want to die, I just want to go, away, out of the dust.

Years later, when Julia was famous she would often receive letters from people who asked not simply how they might learn to cook. They already knew the answer: The owned her cookbooks, but they were yearning to know how they might become passionate about it. She always answered the same thing: Go to France and eat.

The day that I left my home, I had prayed that my children would forget me. I wanted to spare them the pain of remembering. But that night, as I crouched in the white mist, waiting, I knew more than anything that I wanted them to remember, I wanted desperately to go on living in someone's memory. If we are not remembered, we are more than dead, for it is as if we had never lived.

The skin on his palm was thicker than the hide on a man's heel, but across it and between the fingers were deep raw cracks from the cold and the salt which would never heal, not until he settled ashore. And that was not likely to be anytime soon, for when a man's got salt water in his blood and a sea wind in his lungs, neither wife nor land can keep him from the waves.

So how did he look at me?" "Like it was his birthday and you were the cake.

When he comes, he makes a noise deep in his throat that is so raw and animal and sexual that I think if he merely looked at me and made that noise, I might explode in an orgasm.

I am going to love you now, slow and sweet, but when you come, I'm going to f*** you the way I need to. The way I've been dreaming about since the moment I saw you.

I miss her. I don't know how to live without her. There is a hole inside me that nothing fills. If you don't find something to fill that hole, someone else will. And if someone else fills it, they own you. Forever. You'll never get yourself back.

One day you may kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence." "Right, and one day my prince might come." "I doubt he'll be a prince, Ms. Lane. Men rarely are.

Was that the sum total of my exsitence? I didn't get the erudition of 'I think therefore I am.' Instead I got 'I am, therefore I want to fuck Jericho Barrons.

He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?