Quotes About Longing

É isso o amor. Manter a ternura pelo mesmo homem, embora se deseje outros a momentos diferentes.

As saudades não vencem o medo.

Let's not even touch life with the tips of our fingers. Let's not even know the love in our minds. May we never know the feel of a women's kiss, not even in our dreams.

History is about longing and belonging. It is about the need for permanence and the perception of continuity. It concerns the atavistic desire to find deep sources of identity.

When we were apart and I thought of her, I left words out of it. What came to mind instead were flashes of bold color in sunlight. And always an impression of wide-open country and the pair of us traveling, alone together, great distance at great speed.

no, I thought, only what it makes you do, clawing at the trees, splintering the bark like a tomcat, the blind and violent need of it, a joy, but who would not want to be relieved of it. I pity

Vacío, tú eres mi verdad, mi bienamado eres.»

We are bored with God because our heartsq do not hunger for God, seek God, love God

I may be dead by the time you return.

But the longing for Africa, once contracted, is an incurable condition which, like malaria, recurs again and again.

Why, he wondered, does a phone call to a distant loved one only intensify the emptiness and loneliness you were feeling before you called?

Robert Louis Stevenson, sung by Bryn Terfel: Now when day dawns on the brow of the moorland, Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold. Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed, The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old.

Why was it always like that? he wondered. You call someone you love on the phone, and when you've finished talking, all you feel is the bloody distance between you.

Had we but world enough, and time . . .

The excessive pleasure we imagine receiving from what we want most of all is fleeting at best.

Ishq and Mushq.

It seemed that if you listened to that snow hissing long enough, you wouldn't just hear it telling you that it was waiting for you, you'd hear some terrible secret—a secret to turn your life black.

I wish to go beyond the fire that burns me.

To be able to say how much love, is love but little.

And love, if put off too long, was too late, wasted. It could not make up for the lost time, no matter how much was then poured out.

But the actual touch of her lingered, inside his heart. That remained. In all the years of his life ahead, the long years without her, with never seeing her or hearing from her or knowing anything about her, if she was alive or happy or dead or what, that touch stayed locked within him, sealed in himself, and never went away. That one touch of her hand.

I like her; I could watch her the rest of my life. She has breasts that smile.

Why is love so good...? You love someone and they leave. They come home one day and you say What's happening? and they say, I got a better offer someplace else, and there they go, out of your life forever, and after that until you're dead you're carrying around this huge hunk of love with no one to give it to. And if you do find someone to give it to, the same thing happens all over.

She sighed. Oh, God, to be in the flyship cruising through the void. That's what I long for: an infinite void. With no human voices, no human smells, no human jaws masticating plastic chewing gum in nine iridescent colors.