Quotes About Longing

Probably, in the unfamiliar situation, responsibility was never formally allocated to anyone by anybody, and, human nature being incurably optimistic and fundamentally hostile to assuming any work not established as its own by long tradition, each person who might have shouldered the task of organization hopefully supposed it to have been performed by one of the other.

Q: Why do I love thee, O Night? A: Because you know I will never answer.

The heartland lies where the heart longs to be. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to find the true place to plant it.

Había parejas que se querían de ese modo, se querían odiándose toda la vida.

The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam, The meditation that is rather dream, With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks; The hour of steaming tea and banished books; The sweetness of the evening at an end, The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained, And worshipped expectation of the night,— Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight, My dream pursues through all the vain delays, Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days!

My self is at one remove Because it has gone to you Who will not display The sense of me another, Being bound in yourself By my forlorn desire. And yet I would not not love If I could choose not to; For I require to play By hazarding myself To you, my self, the other Whom I always desire. — Veronica Forrest-Thomson, from "Canzon, for British Rail Services," Collected Poems and Translations (Allardyce Barnett, 1990),

Hearing him talk about his mother, about his intact family, makes my chest hurt for a second, like someone pierced it with a needle.

But when I do feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry, then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.

The siren that is this city speaks to us insistently even after we've moved away. She belongs to us, truly, and to each in a different way. Paris nous appartient.

The things one wants the most are not things after all.

Un pájaro de papel en el pecho dice que el tiempo de los besos no ha llegado

yes, I know what you loved, brooding by the shore, your cheek in your still-damp hand, thinking, —Vicente Aleixandre, from "Tragic Destiny," A Longing for the Light: Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2007)

You are the calling of lovers, the signals that silently appeal to one another in the dark. Sky with rubbed out stars, you give yourself, like a warm field, to these noiseless wings.

I rolled in the ash of the fire just to be touched and dirtied by something.

I believe fear of what we do not know may be the devil's best tool, meant to keep us back from those we long to approach.

You love her without willing it or wanting it, and that is the most exquisite pain of all.'

He invaded my consciousness in the same way the ocean washes up on the beach, with sweeping tides of longing and regret, and with such power and raw force, I often woke with the taste of salt from my tears clinging to my skin." Joanna about Ben

Miss me?" he whispered, giving me the once-over, eyes lingering on my chest. My heart skipped a beat. My glyph pulsed painfully. "Like a urinary tract infection," I said, through gritted teeth.

Now her life was under attack, and she [Kit] was shocked to find how fragile everything she'd built really was. She was dumbfounded, too to find that while people were being ripped from her life like paper dolls from a chain, she longed to be the one who'd be gone first.

Endless desire is one of the pitfalls of human nature, and one of the first things you need to cure if you want to get ahead more quickly.

Having more is an endless horizon, no matter how much you have.

For the heart, too, has its hunger.

Separated lovers cheat absence by a thousand fancies which have their own reality. They are prevented from seeing one another and they cannot write; nevertheless they find countless mysterious ways of corresponding, by sending each other the song of birds, the scent of flowers, the laughter of children, the light of the sun, the sighing of the wind, and the gleam of the stars --all the beauties of creation.

Lust, plain and simple - if lust was ever simple.