Quotes About Yearning

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair

Absence from whom we love is worse than death.

Oh! for a closer walk with God.

I broke the spell that held me long, The dear, dear witchery of song. I said, the poet's idle lore Shall waste my prime of years no more, For Poetry, though heavenly born, Consorts with poverty and scorn.

The sleek, expensive girls I teach,Younger and pinker every year,Bloom gradually out of reach.

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely.

I seen a pretty woman in a red dress, the old man said. And then I seen her take it off. What else is there?

She suddenly heard a wave of sound, cicadas and whippoorwills and crickets that just abruptly assailed her, and she wondered if they'd just begun or if they had already been calling and all she'd heard was the banjo music, ancient and myth-laden and somehow enticing, like sound seeping through the cracks of a place you couldn't get to anymore

Even when he'd arrived he'd had restless eyes, eyes that were always looking about as if he might notice some place he'd rather be and head out for it immediately.

Before she'd shared his bed, life had been pointless, but now it had become unbearable. She had appeared from nowhere and returned to it, but she'd taken over his life, left with a lien on his body, a mortgage on his soul.

He wanted to sink down and hug the coals to his chest. Flamboyant...coins of light...oil, wood, tatters...fumes from acids, soap, smoke...the sunlight shattered.

I dreamed my lips would drift down your back like a skiff on a river. I'd follow a vein with the point of my finger, hold your bare feet in my naked hands.

He hated not being heard, having to shout at the insides of himself, having to live in his dreams the way he lived in one of his rented rooms, being opposed, denied, neglected, refused. Kicked out.

The perfect joys of heaven do not satisfy the cravings of nature.

This report inflamed my mind to such a degree that I could not rest by night or day for dreaming golden dreams, and considering how to get to that rich district, unknown to civilized men.

Manifestly, man is the ape that imitates, tells stories, seeks status, morally condemns others, and yearns for the good old days, all of which guarantee a human future studded with religious and financial mass manias.

She gazed at me, and in her eyes I found what it was I'd been searching for all along, searching for without understanding. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, heart of my heart.

Waiting for the warm affection of another human heart. Waiting to know the reason he has always felt like a soul alone in the universe. But this night, his waiting

Meloux had never seen his own son. Never carried him on his shoulders or held him when he cried. Never felt the small boy's breath, warm and sweet smelling, break against his face. Never knew the pleasures of being for his son the slayer of monsters imagined in the night.

Hummingbird told me about the Path of Souls. She told me she would be waiting for me at the end…I want to be on the Path of Souls. I want to be with Hummingbird.

He yearned for the words. It was an affliction, this constant clutching for words. It felt as if he had been excluded from a conversation.

no one worth knowing can be quite known, no one worth possessing can be quite possessed—but

no one worth knowing can be quite known, no one worth possessing can be quite possessed...