Quotes About Yearning

There is something worse than kissing the wrong person. It is wanting to.

She wanted to say "Don't leave me," but she couldn't do it, not again. She was so tired of begging people to love her.

she hardly missed him. In fact, she didn't miss him at all. She missed the idea of him. She missed a second plate at the dinner table, another body in this bed that seemed to have enlarged in his absence.

thrust deep inside her body

from me I couldn't give. He pulled away from me, or

But what if that was exactly what you wanted: everything?

Kalbi onunla konuÅŸuyordu, yüksek sesle ve daha önce hiç bilmediÄŸi bir aç?kl?kla... Kalbi ve ruhu kederden, hüzünden ve gözya?? dökmekten yorulmuÅŸtu. Nefes almaktan ama gerçekten yaÅŸamamaktan...

I think its just human nature to wish that the people who are gone from our lives are going to come back.

Perhaps that was what it was like to love someone deeply: to feel that no matter how many moments together you were granted, there would never be enough.

Yearning for a life you don't understand is like staring at the sun. Your foolishness will destroy you.

Hope was a dangerous thief, stealing her todays for a tomorrow that would never come.

was what it was like to love someone deeply: to feel that no matter how many moments together you were granted, there would never be enough.

Meanwhile I was trying to stave off the ache I'd developed. I noticed it first at the airport, coming home from a trip. There was a crowd on the other side of customs, holding flowers, the little kids dressed up and excited, waiting for their loved ones, who were returning home. I hated walking past that gauntlet of waiting people, because none of them were waiting for me. I stood in the cab line and felt the weight of my aloneness come down on me.

I unlocked the door of my apartment, where the only movement, while I was gone, had been the light moving across the walls from the morning to evening and a scuttling roach or two, and the air inside smelled of loneliness. The ache got eased a little the next day, after I'd picked up my dog from my sister, gotten sucked back into the slipstream of the city. But only a little. And soon it spread, until the word home could make me cry. I wanted one.

This humble wish seemed impossible. It was so different from the life I was living, and no one in my circle had those things, or wanted them, or would admit it if they did. I thought I could acknowledge the ache and learn to live with it, the way you live with the pain that lingers long after you've broken a bone, the kind that foretells a shift in the weather.

It wasn't chance at all, Gilly. People are yearning creatures. They imagine and strive and hope. Stories about an enchanted band of vagabonds existed before the Carnival itself. But those fairy tales become the focal point of billions of daydreams, and eventually those daydreams condensed like vapor into something real. The Carnival only exists because you want it to, you and everyone else. So why's it peculiar that, when you wanted to find it, a path came into existence too?

You know something, it's best no to have what you need because then, you start looking for what you need and make it what you need.

It seemed to her that she was reading the story of her own dreams, desires, and hopes. She sensed something immense, something calling behind the chaos of these primitive forms and structures of words.

all i want...is mac and cheese

I really haven't had that exciting of a life. There are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting around and complaining about having a boring life. So I pretty much like to make it up. I'd rather tell a story about somebody else.

The finest day i ever had was when tomorrow never came

Ja, wir wollen wohl ein bißchen viel: kluge Gespräche und Logik und gutes Aussehen und ein bißchen Treue und dann dieser nie zu unterdrückende Wunsch, von der Frau wie ein Beefsteak gefressen zu werden, daß die Kinnbacken krachen... .

A world without you is unknown to me. I don't even know if it exists.

Ojalá el sueño fuera realidad y la realidad fuese un sueño!», pienso. Pero es imposible. Por eso, al despertarme, siempre estoy llorando. No es porque esté triste. Es que, cuando regreso a la realidad desde un sueño feliz, me topo con una fisura que me es imposible franquear sin verter lágrimas. Y eso, por más veces que me ocurra, siempre es así.