Quotes About Longing

When you're young, you wish for things in the future, but when you grow old … you wish for things from the past

He brought you back. He can steal anything he wants.

You'd think wouldn't hurt a little one, but the pain is a great as if they'd been with you all your life. You can't remember what it was like before they touched your heart and you can never forget them

I missed him. Love, I realized, was something your spine memorized. There was nothing you could do about that.

It was like the classic scene in the movies where one lover is on the train and one is on the platform and the train starts to pull away, and the lover on the platform begins to trot along and then jog and then sprint and then gives up altogether as the train speeds irrevocably off. Except in this case I was all the parts: I was the lover on the platform, I was the lover on the train. And I was also the train.

I am tired, I am weary. I could sleep for a thousand years, a thousand dreams that would awake me. Different colors made of tears. The Velvet Underground, from "Venus In Furs," The Velvet Underground & Nico. Produced by Andy Warhol (Verve, 1967)

There is only one good thing about a small town You know that you want to get out - Songs for Drella

We are half-hearted creatures," writes Lewis, "fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.  We are far too easily pleased."  Heaven promises a purification, not a mortification, of our deepest desires.

you sleep naked in my brain and I dare not rest

La tête ailleurs et le cÅ"ur dans un autre siècle déjà...

Thou dost not understand the foolish things that creep into the hearts of us white men when we love a woman, not for her beauty alone, but for something that wise men say lies beyond the black gates of death, and the woman who loves and the man who loves shall yet meet again.

Give me some more grog, dear friend; when I talk of the days of my youth my belly yearns for it, and I am not ashamed to beg.

Hij begreep niet waarom hij zoo oud moest worden, terwijl de dingen zoo langzaam voorbij gingen, stille voorbij, maar zóo slepend, als waren ze, de dingen van vroeger, spoken, die slierden heel lange sluiers langs heel lange paden, en als ritselden de sluiers over de warrelende bladeren, die neêrdwarrelden over het pad.

Your lips are like sugar And your cheeks an apple Your breasts are paradise And your body a lily. O, to kiss the sugar To bite the apple To reveal paradise And open the lily.

En als de vliegers weg zijn dan is het droefste in uw leven dat ge zooveel menschen hebt gekend, en dat ge die nooit meer zult horen of zien.

Ge verlangt naar iemand, en als ge met twee zijt blijkt het dat ge toch gelukkiger, geruster en goddelijk eenzamer waart, alleen.

If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs, "The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies." While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, Crying to the moo-oo-oon, "If only, If only.

There was so much to love I could not love it all;I could not love it enough.

Goodbye, goodbye! There was so much to love, I could not love it all; I could not love it enough. — Louise Bogan, from "After the Persian," The Blue Estuaries: Poems: 1923-1968 . (Farrar, Straus and Giroux October 31, 1995) Originally published November 1st 1974.

You should remind yourself that what you love is mortal, that what you love is not your own. It is granted to you the present while, and not irrevocably, nor for ever, but like a fig or a bunch of grapes in the appointed season and if you long for it in the winter, you are a fool.

The first day without you is painful in a way that is almost exquisite. I imagine quitting smokers must feel like this, or crash-dieters - the early determination, where the loss of what you have given up is replaced with the adrenaline of denial.

We have these earthly bodies. We don't know what they want. Half the time, we pretend they are under our mental thumb, but that is the illusion of the healthy and the protected. Of sedate lovers. For the body has emotions it conceives and carries through without concern for anyone or anything else. Love is one of those, I guess. Going back to something very old knit into the brain as we were growing. Hopeless. Scorching. Ordinary.

I feel there's a funny little hole in me that wasn't there before, like a splinter in your finger, but this is somewhere above my stomach.

A short life in the saddle, Lord!Not long life by the fire.