Quotes About Longing

Is it always that way with men, that first burst of love or sex the thing that binds you? Do you always have to harken back to those first weeks when just the way he walked across a room made you want to take off all your clothes?

When I was visiting her a few years ago she hugged me and said, 'Tomorrow after you leave I will stand here at this window and remember that yesterday you were right here with me.' And now she's dead and I have that feeling all the time, no matter where I stand.

I held her as she wept. I stroked her hair, loose and slightly matted. 'Stay here with me. Or let me come with you.' She pulled me down to kiss her. Warm. Briny. 'I love you,' she said, her lips still against mine. But it meant no.

The impulse to touch her and all the life in her was something I had to check regularly.

Did love, she wondered, include this desperate yearning to present the world as truly beautiful to someone else?

I couldn't sleep beside him. It was too strong. I wanted him too much. It never went away. (32)

Tomorrow after you leave I will stand here at this window and remember that yesterday you were right here with me.

For me and my true love will never meet again By the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

My body aches from my throat to my groin. I want him to slide his fingers into my bathing suit and make all the heaviness and misery go away. I feel like a hag in a fairy tale, waiting to be made young and supple again.

My parents were married twenty-three years and never made it look appealing.

I want too much. I always have.

My old friends are getting married, too. The invitations catch up with me eventually, forwarded from Oregon or Spain or Albuquerque. Unfortunately, sometimes these invitations arrive before the wedding has taken place.

I look back on those days and it feels gluttonous, all that time and love and life ahead ...

I'm wondering how to tell him about Oscar. I want to know if it matters to him. IT seems like the only way to find out his feelings for me. It was easier to imagine doing this when he wasn't in the room, when he wasn't leaning over a table on his elbows, twisting up a chopstick wrapper with fingers that are unexpectedly familiar.

Leaving Inishmore' by Michael Longley, from Selected Poems (1998, p.22). What

Can you miss someone you've never known? Mary does.

He purchased that great canvas also bearing the likeness to his beloved, for he could not bear another to look upon what he dreamed each night...but as he now had enjoyed the quite singular pleasure of his wife's true form revealed to him, he knew he would have [it] returned... At one time he had thought it quite impossible, but now he understood how truly inadequate the vision cast by his mind's eye had been.

Tonight, I need him. I need him with every cell in my body. I need him on so many levels I couldn't begin to sort through them or make sense of any of it. I need him with an urgency that scares me, because control is the one thing I will never relinquish, even to him.

I began to feel an emptiness, a hole that I needed to fill before I died.

It's been a long time, you see. There's been no one for five years. Not since Gavin. I've spent five years murdering what I felt for him, starving my need for him, purging my memory. But somehow it still feels...too soon. They say time heals, but--' 'They lied,' he said simply.

Kept Burning and Distant" You return when you feel like it, like rain. And like rain you are tender, with the rain's inept tenderness. A passion so general I could be anywhere. You carry me out into the wet air. You lay me down on the leaves and the strong thing is not the sex, But waking up alone under the tress after.

Now they were merely trying to fill themselves up but not with the heart, not the soul. They'd lost both those along the way...

I knew my box of paints, stored away on the bedroom shelf of my small house across the ocean, could never create such colors.

Nostalgia is a way of remembering people and places and things, and wishing things hadn't changed. It has a sweetness to it. Sadness is just--well--being sad.