Quotes About Yearning

This water is cool and clean as anything I have ever tasted; it tastes of my father leaving, of him never having been there, of having nothing after he was gone.

iki insan hayat?n herhangi bir an?nda bir ?eyi nadiren ayn? anda ister. Bazen insan olman?n en zor yan? budur.

As soon as she says this, I realize she is just like everyone else, and wish I was back at home so that all the things I do not understand could be the same as they always are.

Emma hung up and hugged her pillow tight to her chest. He shouldn't be making her feel this special and desired. He was just a friend. Right, just a friend. She wasn't even fooling herself anymore.

Is there a word? A friend, a companion, or maybe just a sharer. What good are words? I mean, I think people often try to find through sex, things that are much easier to find in other ways.

She was bereft of love. She had never, not once in her life, been truly in love.

If you make a wish and if you keep on making the same wish, it will be granted. That's how strong human wishes are.

You can reach, but you cannot touch. It's reflected in your eye, but the message is never conveyed. It is something you decided for yourself, but that does not change the pain you feel. Even so...you must protect what you must protect.

All happiness and all unhappiness ... stems from one having a desire. And that is why mankind will always make their wishes.

Nothing is more painful than to wander in the world without the one you love.

Reality doesn't surprise me. But that's not true: I suddenly feel such a hunger for the "thing to really happen" that I cry out and bite into reality with my lacerating teeth. And afterwards give a sigh over the captive whose flesh I ate. And again, for a long while, I do without real reality and find comfort in living from my imagination.

Freedom isn't enough. What I desire doesn't have a name yet.

Obsessed with the desire to be happy I lost my life. I moved with the tension of a bow and arrow in an unreality of desires.

Once in a while, groundless melancholy would darken my face, a dull and incomprehensible nostalgia for times never experienced would invade me.

She knew what desire was — though she didn't know she knew. It was like this: she was starving but not for food, it was a kind of painful taste that rose from the pit of her stomach and made her nipples quiver and her arms empty without an embrace.

I, who called love my hope for love.

Liberdade é pouco. O que eu desejo ainda não tem nome.

She felt like a dry branch, sticking out of the air. Brittle, covered in old bark. Maybe she was thirsty, but there was no water nearby. And above all the suffocating certainty that if a man were to embrace her at that moment she would feel not a soft sweetness in her nerves, but lime juice stinging them, her body like wood near fire, warped, crackling, dry.

Love? I wanted to go with him, to be on the stronger side, for him to spare me, like one who seeks shelter in the arms of the enemy to stay far from his arrows. It was different than love, I was finding out: I wanted him as a thirsty person desires water, without feelings, without even wanting to be happy.

I was first drawn to you thinking you were going to teach me something more than that. I needed that which I sensed in you and which you have always denied.

É possível também que já então meu tema de vida fosse a irrazoável esperança, e que eu já tivesse iniciado a minha grande obstinação: eu daria tudo que era meu por nada, mas queria que tudo me fosse dado por nada.

Because there are times when a person needs a little bitty death and doesn't even know it.

I want the shining gravel in a dark brook. I want the sparkle of the stone beneath the rays of sun, I want death that frees me. I could manage to have pleasure if I abstained from thinking. Then I'd feel the ebb and flow of air in my lungs.

She herself asked for nothing, but her sex made its demands like a sunflower germinating in a tomb.