Quotes About Longing

I lifted you from the tomb world just now and I will continue to lift you until you lose interest and want to quit. But you will have to stop searching for me because I will never stop searching for you.(Mercer)

But the longing within him had grown even greater, the overpowering need to be alone. Locked in an empty room, entirely unwitnessed, silent and supine. Stretched out, not needing to speak, not needing to move. Not required to cope with anyone or any problem. And no one will even know where I am, he told himself. That seemed, unaccountably, very important; he wanted to be unknown and invisible, to live unseen.

She took his hand, squeezed it, held it, and then, all at once, she let it drop. 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.

He felt the craving within him, the need to be entertained. And they all felt this way; the settlement yearned for the bizarre.

You will have to stop searching for me because l will never stop searching for you.

Aimer un esprit, voilà le véritable martyre. Le désespoir incarné. Le nom de Donna ne serait imprimé sur aucune page, il n'apparaîtrait nulle part dans les annales de l'humanité. Disparue sans laisser d'adresse. Il y a des filles comme ça, et c'est celles-là qu'on aime le plus, celles qui ne permettent pas d'espérer, car elles vous échappent alors même que vous refermer vos bras autour d'elles.

Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand.

You love someone and they leave. They come home one day and start packing their things 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.

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left, / Shaped to the comfort of the last to go / As if to win them back

All day I searched shopwindows, record bins, bookstores, even a Greek bakery for a hint of what I can't say.

No,' he said, 'memory's a poor thing to have. It's your own real hair and mouth and arms and eyes and hands I want. I didn't know I could ever love anything so much...

It might have been a new way for her heart to beat.

I'll be looking for you, Will, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart.

My flat's about half a mile away, and you know what I'd like most of all in the world? I'd like a cup of tea. Come on, let's go and put the kettle on.

She longed for cutlasses, pistols, and brandy; she had to make do with coffee, and pencils, and verbs.

All she knew was that she must be in love with someone, or she wouldn't feel so miserable.

the particular plant longed for by the wife, which was originally parsley, was a well-known abortifacient.

And then Serafina understood something for which witches had no word: it was the idea of pilgrimage. She understood why these beings would wait for thousands of years and travel vast distances in order to be close to something important, and how they would feel differently for the rest of time, having been briefly in its presence.

this man who had so much that he wanted even more.

Everyone wishes they could speak again to those who've gone to the land of the dead.

Being in love was like China: you knew it was there, and no doubt it was very interesting, and some people went there, but I never would.

How much time could you spend staring out the ocean, even if it was the ocean you'd loved since you were a boy?

hoe weemoedig hij soms ook mocht kijken naar zulke echtparen in de vallende schemering of op zondagmiddagen, de week had nog meer uren en hun leven was niets voor hem, als hij zijn melancholie weer de baas was

Tits and cunts and legs and lips and mouths and tongues and assholes! How can I give up what I have never even had, for a girl, who delicious and provocative as once she may have been, will inevitably grow as familiar to me as a loaf of bread?