Quotes About Yearning

What do I care that you are good?Be beautiful! and be sad!

There are women who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and to take your pleasure of them; but this one fills you only with the desire to die slowly beneath her gaze.

Creating a scene is thus the staging of a desire.

Needing something is not the same thing as being interested in the thing itself.

Gurov, discovers that the most important features of life that you want to talk about cannot be spoken of in polite society.

randomly around her plate. I said later: at least no ham, no pork, no shrimp mousse, no trayf. But Harry, she said, veal to me is like a frozen scream.

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

Death was a sweet relief for my present miseries, and I vehemently longed for its arrival.

I wanted the whole world or nothing.

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.

there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.

There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.

I see so little of you these days; your presence is as rare as that of one's discarded mistress.

I am dying of thirst by the side of the fountain.

Heaven without love : what a hell.

Lack creates desire. I feel becoming it. (Le manque crée le désir. Je sens le devenir)

The hands that are spaced are docks, where desires can dock. (Les mains écartées sont des quais, - Où les désirs peuvent accoster.)

The smile of lovers is gondola of their desire. (Des amoureux le sourire - Est gondole de leur désir.)

Leave the bottle on the chimleypiece, and don't ask me to take none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged.

She'll wish there was more, and that's the great art o' letter-writin'.

You have been the last dream of my soul.

I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.

And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.

How could you give me life, and take from me all the inappreciable things that raise it from the state of conscious death? Where are the graces of my soul? Where are the sentiments of my heart? What have you done, oh, Father, What have you done with the garden that should have bloomed once, in this great wilderness here? Said louisa as she touched her heart.