Quotes About Longing

To be a decent writer you must have both empathy and imagination. While these attributes aid your art, they can plague your soul. You don't simply suffer your own sadness, experience your own longing and worry about your own wife and children, you are burdened with experiencing the emotional states of multitudes of others you don't know.

Missing is one of the true tragedies in life," he says. "That ache that nothing soothes. I thought time would soften it. It's supposed to, isn't it? But all these years later, I still long for what I had. What we all had. What is no more.

Someday I'll give it to her. When everything is better. The natural history of her life, sketched out, because nothing means as much until it has vanished.

it's like a squid in love with the sky.

We relished the small freedoms granted to us, but wanted more. We read Ginsberg's Howl, and longed for the day when we too could sing out of our windows in despair.

Em todas as ruas te encontro em todas as ruas te perco conheço tão bem o teu corpo sonhei tanto a tua figura que é de olhos fechados que eu ando a limitar a tua altura e bebo a água e sorvo o ar que te atravessou a cintura tanto tão perto tão real que o meu corpo se transfigura e toca o seu próprio elemento num corpo que já não é seu num rio que desapareceu onde um braço teu me procura Em todas as ruas te encontro em todas as ruas te perco

Quiero la esencia. Mi alma tiene prisa...

Desire only that which is within you.

Those nostalgic for the region's good old days are not remembering; they're daydreaming.

We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is. We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner, and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity that vanishes almost as soon as it comes.

Só a quero porque não a posso ter.Como um rapaz imberbe

Was there anything more cruel than to want something after years of not wanting, and to know you cannot have it?

We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.

Bring him back to me,' he told them.

Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

I almost did not come, because I did not want to leave it." He smiled. "Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere." The sun sank below Pelion's ridges, and we were happy.

I shift, an infinitesimal movement, towards him. It is like the leap from a waterfall. I do not know, until then, what I am going to do.

When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain.

If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth. As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong. "Patroclus," he said. He was always better with words than I.

There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to know what he had not said.

Those seconds, half seconds, that the line of our gaze connected, were the only moment in my day that I felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of my stomach, the coursing anger. I was like a fish eyeing the hook.

I would look at him and feel a love so sharp it seemed my flesh lay open. I made a list of all the things I would do for him. Scald off my skin. Tear out my eyes. Walk my feet to bones, if only he would be happy and well.

Even here, behind the darkness of my eyelids, I cannot name the thing I hope for.

He waits for you.