Quotes About Longing

She closed her eyes and felt him inside her skin. Where he was vibrant and smart and irreverent and loving. She saw his smile, heard his laugh. Felt his hands. Felt his body. Now he was gone. But he hadn't left. And she sometimes wondered if that was him, beating on her heart. And she wondered what would happen if he stopped. Every night she came here. Parked. And stared at the window. Hoping to see some sign of life.

Michael Brebeuf had long hated Armand. But he had loved him even longer.

We long to find home. After years and years of making war on everyone around us, on ourselves, we just want peace.' 'And

It's a Buddhist belief. One of the states of man from the Wheel of Life. The more you eat the hungrier you get. It's considered the very worst of the lives. Trying to fill a hole that only gets deeper. Fill it with food or money or power. With the admiration of others. Whatever." "The Hungry Ghost,

That moment of horror had finally given the young gardener what she'd longed for. Company. Acceptance. It was too bad it came at such a cost, but then peace often did.

Jas, you are three hundred miles away. You would have to have nunga-nungas the size of France for Jock to be able to rest his hand on them.

11:20 a.m. This is my fabulous life: the Sex God left for Whakatane last month and he has taken my heart with him. 11:25 a.m. Not literally, of course, otherwise there would be a big hole in my nunga-nungas. 11:28 a.m. And also I would be dead. Which quite frankly would be a blessing in disguise.

I could have stayed holding on to Masimo and riding round forever, round and round, like that bloke on that doomed phantom boat, The Flying Dutchman. Of course there are differences—he was not on a scooter, and I don't have a beard and I am not Dutch.

so many vaginas, stomachs, cocks, snouts, and flies you don't know what to do with them ... shovelsfull! ... but hearts? ... very rare! in the last five hundred million years too many cocks and gastric tubes to count ... but hearts? ... on your fingers! ...

How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to desire.

When I go away from you The world beats dead Like a slackened drum. I call out for you against the jutted stars And shout into the ridges of the wind. Streets coming fast, One after the other, Wedge you away from me, And the lamps of the city prick my eyes So that I can no longer see your face. Why should I leave you, To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

Rapture's self is three parts sorrow.

Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.

Now you are come! You tremble like a star Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set. Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb And mute, I have no tones to answer.

And as nearer and ever nearer I felt the throb of your tread, To be in the world grew dearer, And my blood ran rosier red.

Some feelings are stronger than fear: love, longing, desire.

quod defles, illud amasti.

I'm having a hard time writing about Sunday. Getting the long hollow feeling of Sundays. No mail and faraway lawn mowers, the hopelessness.

I don't think I ever really liked the world until I met him.

Lo llaman romperse el corazón porque añorar a alguien es un dolor físico real, lo sientes en la sangre y en los huesos.

Watcha gonna do when I'm gone, Maggie?" you kept asking over and over, the other time, when you were going to London. "I'll do macrame, punk." "Whatcha gonna do when I'm gone, Maggie?" "You really think I need you that bad?" "Yes," you said. A simple Nebraska statement.

oh antic God return to me my mother in her thirties leaned across the front porch the huge pillow of her breasts pressing against the rail summoning me in for bed. I am almost the dead woman's age times two. I can barely recall her song the scent of her hands though her wild hair scratches my dreams at night. return to me, oh Lord of then and now, my mother's calling, her young voice humming my name.

the st. marys river flows as if nothing has happened i watch it with my coffee afraid and sad as are we all so many ones to hate and i cursed with long memory cursed with the desire to understand have never been good at hating

Then how come you went there?" "I was lonesome. Lonesome takes what it can get.