Quotes About Yearning

But, know this, Beck: Every day I find a way to visit the pictures of you in my phone. I'm faithful.

You love your writing, your friends, your city, men like Benji. And what all those have in common is that they will never love you back. While you give everything.

What we want, of course, what lies in the cupboard marked 'important,' is connection, love: If the deepest source of human hunger had a name, that would be it; if the boxes of constraint in which so many women live could be smashed to bits, that would be the tool, the sledgehammer that shatters emptiness and uncovers the hope buried beneath it.

Life had this unmoored quality, full of voids and barely acknowledged yearnings, and if I'd made a list of things I wanted desperately at the time, it would have included the most elusive items. Love with ambivalence. Family members who won't leave. Intimacy that's not scary, that doesn't require a lot of anesthesia.

Recovering alcoholics often talk about drinking "the way they wanted to" when they were alone, drinking without the feeling of social restraint they might have had at a party or in a restaurant. There's something almost childlike about the need, and about the language we use to describe it: wanting our bottles, wanting to crawl into that dark room in our minds and curl up and be alone with our object of security.

To a drinker the sensation is real and pure and akin to something spiritual: you seek; in the bottle, you find.

Love—the desire to love and be loved, to hold and be held, to give love even if your experience as a recipient has been compromised or incomplete—is the constant on the continuum of hunger, it's what links the anorexic to the garden-variety dieter, it's the persistent pulse of need and yearning behind the reach for food, for sex, for something.

A love story. Yes: this is a love story. It's about passion, sensual pleasure, deep pulls, lust, fears, yearning hungers. It's about needs so strong they're crippling. It about saying goodbye to something you can't fathom living without.

So it persists, for many of us, hunger channeled into some internal circuitry of longing, routed this way and that, emerging in a thousand different forms. The diet form, the romance form, the addiction form, the overriding hunger for this purchase or that job, this relationship or that one. Hunger may be insatiable by nature, it may be fathomless, but our will to fill it, our often blind tenacity in the face of it, can be extraordinary.

He didn't want to run the other way when he saw Miss Bennet, as vexing as she was. He wanted to best her, to leave her speechless; he wanted to hear her confess that she was wrong and he was right, about anything at all. And most worrisome of all, he wanted to kiss her senseless when she did so. Maybe even before. He must be cracked in the head.

He took another deep breath as she laughed, and the vibrations rippled through her body into his. 'I could stay here forever,'he added, almost to himself, as he brushed aside her hair to nuzzle the back of her neck. She raised her head and gave him a sultry look. 'Forever! How many wicked plans do you have?' 'You have no idea,' he murmured, easing away from her. He reached around and began untying her stays.

Among other things, he [Thomas] insist he will perish if he cannot take me to Venice and watch me fall into a canal.

I loved them desperately. For four years I lived for them.

I have never treasured any woman the way I treasure you now, this moment. You are all I think of, all I want.

Yet every time I saw Arthur my heart sank.

What a hard thing it is to write of love! Easy enough to describe the burning brand of lust, or yearning of infatuation, that yearning that can never be assuaged. But love! There is only the word, and the knowing it.

Guess you never know how much you like the water until the well runs dry, and if I can't have your love unconditionally, then I'll just have to do without it until you grow up.

I couldn't even see that woman because I have blinders on when you are around, and every single thought in my head is about you.

It's impossible to desire something without also fearing it a bit, and it's impossible to fear and dislike something without also desiring it.

An ache of hope that you will come back— the cawing flock is not your coming — Carolyn Forché, from "Travel Papers," In the Lateness of the World: Poems (Penguin Press, 2020)

In the night I come to you and it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.

Loving the unattainable was safe. That love could never be tested by day-to-day reality.

Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.

One of her arms was around his waist as her eyes fluttered open. He found himself lost in limpid blue green. She wasn't his. Not legally. He could as yet lay no claim to her heart. He wanted the ceremony that would make her indisputably his. He wanted Sophie to be the mother of his children. He wanted Sophie. He wouldn't ever be whole without her. If he rushed her, he stood to lose everything.