Quotes About Yearning

Mas lembrar-se com saudade é como se despedir de novo.

I write in acrobatics and pirouettes in the air - I write because I so deeply want to speak.

Não ter nascido bicho parece ser uma de minhas secretas nostalgias.

But I've never known what to do with people and the things I like, sometimes they weigh me down, ever since I was a girl.

Today I woke up feeling such nostalgia for happiness. My whole life I've never been free. I always persecuted myself within me. I've became intolerable to myself. I live in the dilacerating duality. I have an apparent freedom but I am imprisoned inside me.

Mi dedico alla nostalgia della mia antica povertà, quando tutto era più sobrio e più degno, e io non avevo ancora mangiato aragoste.

Quis o mar e sentiu os lençóis da cama.

I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva. I want this word: splendidness, splendidness is the fruit in its succulence, fruit without sadness. I want distances. My wild intuition about myself. But my main thing is always hidden. I am implicit. And when I make myself explicit I lose the humid intimacy.

O senhor não compreende, disse ela de novo irritada, que eu não posso pedir? porque preciso de tanto que ninguém pode me dar?

Who was she asking? God? She didn't think about God, God didn't think about her. God belongs to those who can manage to get hem.

Bastou vê-lo para torná-lo imediatamente sua goiabada-com-queijo.

When I prayed I achieved an emptiness of soul — and that emptiness is all I can ever have.

Era una mujer débil frente a las cosas. Todo le parecía a veces demasiado preciso, imposible de ser tocado. Y, a veces, lo que usaban como aire de respirar era peso de muerte para ella. Vea si comprende a mi heroína, tía, escuche. Es voluble y audaz. No ama, no es amada. [...] Sin embargo, lo que hay dentro de Juana es algo más fuerte que el amor que se da y lo que hay dentro de ella exige más que el amor que se recibe.

I want to see birds flying or perched in trees—but far from my hands.

Animal life boils down to this pursuit of pleasure after all. Human life is more complex: it boils down to the pursuit of pleasure, to fear of it, and above all to the dissatisfaction of the time in between. What I'm saying is a little simplistic, but it doesn't matter for now. Do you understand? All yearning is pursuit of pleasure. All remorse, pity, benevolence, is fear of it. All despair and seeking alternative routes are dissatisfaction. There you have it in a nutshell, if you wish.

She wanted the best oils and perfumes, wanted the best kind of life, wanted the most tender hopes, wanted the best delicate meats and also the heaviest ones to eat, wanted her flesh to break into spirt and her spirit to break into flesh, wanted those fine mixtures— everything that would secretly ready her for those first moments that would come.

Não, não, ainda melhor assim: cada um com um corpo, empurrando-o para frente, querendo sofregamente vivê-lo. Procurando cheio de cobiça subir o outro, pedindo cheio de covardia astuciosa e comovente para existir melhor, melhor.

Hay algo dentro de mí que duele. Ah, cómo duele y cómo grita pidiendo socorro. Pero faltan lágrimas en la máquina que soy. Soy un objeto sin destino.

Eu ainda não sei controlar meu ódio mas já sei que meu ódio é um amor irrealizado.

Civilizar minha vida é expulsar-me de mim. O que me mata é o cotidiano. Eu queria só exceções. Estou perdida: eu não tenho hábitos.

Es que todo lo que tengo no se puede dar. Ni tomar. Yo misma puedo morir de sed ante mí. La soledad está mezclada en mi esencia... [...] -Cuando me acerqué- dijo, él sardónico- pensé que ibas a enseñarme algo más que eso. Necesitaba aquello que había adivinado en ti y que tú siempre me negaste.

I am transfiguring reality—what is it that's escaping me? why don't I reach out my hand and take it? It's because I only dreamed of the world but never saw it.

Around the shadow is a heat of abundant sweat. I'm alive. I'm alive. But I feel that I have yet to reach my limits, borders with what? ... And madly I take control of the recesses of myself, my ravings suffocate me with so much beauty. I am before, I am almost, I am never. And all of this I won when I stopped loving you. I write to you as an exercise in sketching before painting. I see words.

É que tudo o que tenho não se pode dar. Nem tomar. Eu mesma posso morrer de sede diante de mim.