Quotes About Yearning

Terwijl ik dit opschrijf, zie ik het beeld voor me van een armzalige bedelaar die voor de etalage van een juwelier naar de glans van een kostbaar kleinood met edelstenen staart. Die man zal zich zelf nooit toestaan de wens uit te spreken dat hij dit sieraad wil bezitten; want alleen al de gedachte aan dat verlangen zou lachwekkend en onmogelijk zijn en zou hem voor zichzelf een voorwerp van spot maken.

Sun and sea air could not burn his skin, it was the same creamy marble hue as at first—though he did look a little pale, either from the cold or in the bluish moonlight of the arc-lamps. The shapely brows were so delicately drawn, the eyes so deeply dark—lovelier he was than words could say, and as often the thought visited Aschenbach, and brought its own pang, that language could but extol, not reproduce, the beauties of the sense.

Eines will ich Ihnen sagen ... es ist so wahr, daß ich es Ihnen beschwören kann: Ein Mann ist nicht albern, weil er darüber weint, daß Sie nichts von ihm wissen wollen ... das ist es.

Hans Castorp erfuhr, daß man eine Fertigkeit rasch gewinnt, deren man innerlich bedürftig ist.

The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little.

Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.

I need my heart to be moved by you.

Concupierunt concupiscentiam in deserto. . . . Numquid poterit parare mensam populo suo?

All those days and nights were without romance, horrible.

I need criticism the way a man dying of thirst needs water.

Gnostic tales tell of the homesickness of the soul, its yearning for its own milieu…

I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garland's dead, And all but he departed!

Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.

You need to find true love, Doc. Actually, he thought, I'll settle for finding my way through this. His fingers, with a mind of their own, began to creep toward the plastic hedge. Maybe if he searched through it long enough, late enough into the night, he'd find something that might help --- some tiny forgotten scrap of his life he didn't even know was missing, something that would make all the difference now.

He was visited on a lunar basis by these great unspecific waves of horniness, whereby all women within a certain age group and figure envelope became immediately and impossibly desirable. He emerged from these spells with eyeballs still oscillating and a wish that his neck could rotate through the full 360 degrees.

Run away with me," said Roseman when the coffee came. "Where?" she asked. That shut him up.

But on the way home tonight, you wish you'd picked him up, held him a bit. Just held him, very close to your heart, his cheek by the hollow of your shoulder, full of sleep. As it it were you who could, somehow, save him. For the moment not caring who you're supposed to be registered as. For the moment, anyway, no longer who the Caesars say you are.

Not the first time Doc had run into girl-of-his-dreams unavailability.

I want to break out – to leave this cycle of infection and death. I want to be taken in love: so taken that you and I, and death, and life, will be gathered inseparable, into the radiance of what we would become.

All the time we were growing up, Frank said, you wanted to run away and join the carnival? Yes, and there I was with all o' you, right in the carnival, and didn't even know it. And he hoped he'd always be able to recall the way she laughed then.

She told him later that as soon as he took her wrist that night, she came. And the first time he touched her cunt, squeezed Jessica's soft cunt through her knickers, the trembling began again high in her thighs, growing, taking her over. She came twice before cock was ever officially put inside cunt, and this is important to both of them though neither has figured out why, exactly.

They talked in the car always, he trying to find the key to her own ignition behind the hooded eyes, she sitting back of the right-hand steering wheel and talking, talking, nothing but MG-words, inanimate-words he couldn't really talk back at. Soon

There's never much talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting. It is marginal, hungry, chilly—most times they're too paranoid to risk a fire—but it's something they want to keep, so much that to keep it, they will take on more than propaganda has ever asked them for. They are in love. Fuck the war.

Something, something like the silvering of a mirror, remained between them. If Dally wanted to throw herself into those arms in their carefully kept sleeves, she would not be pushed away, she was at least that sure, but past that, where all that ought to matter lay, she saw only a black-velvet absence of signs.