Quotes About Longing

I want to go home at night and feel discomfort.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

What about you? Are you happiest and saddest right now that you've ever been?" "Of course I am." "Why?" "Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.

Loneliness: there is no organ that can take it all.

She was gone, and all that was left was the space you'd grown around her, like a tree that grows around a fence. For a long time, it remained hollow. Years, maybe. And when at last it was filled again, you knew that the new love you felt for a woman would have been impossible without Alma. If it weren't for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it.

He looked at her. There was something about her. When he was with her he felt happy, excited; when he was apart from her he found himself wanting to be with her again.

She shrugged, knowing all too well how easy it was to long for a different life, how hard it was to find one's way there.

They connected on every level - mental, philosophical, emotional. But she couldn't have him, not all of him.

I cannot go any further without mentioning my favourite biscuit of all time, now sadly, tragically, extinct. The oaty, crumbly, demerara notes of the long-forgotten Abbey Crunch will remain forever on my lips. I loved the biscuit as much as anything I have ever eaten, and often, in moments of solitude, I still think about its warm, buttery, sugary self.

There were the endless birthday nights and New Year's Eves of just you in your bed and no one else. There was the welling up at weddings, the glittery eye-prick, when all the couples would get up to dance. Sometimes it felt like your heart was crazed with cracks like your grandmother's old saucers. Sometimes the sight of a Saturday afternoon couple laughing in a park would splinter it completely.

So, he feels now, that he doesn't have to try. And you want him more than you ever have before.

You feel something you haven't for years: it's to do with university parties with bathtubs of alcohol and the smell of hamburgers on fingers and beer in a kiss. You should have been disgusted by all that but you weren't. You'd be wet so quick; to get their clothes off, to have their weight upon you, to be rammed against a wall with your leg curled up.

Russia! Russia! What is the incomprehensible, mysterious force that draws me to you? Why does your mournful song, carried along your whole length and breadth from sea to sea, each and re-echo incessantly in my ears? What is there in that song? What is it that calls, and sobs, and clutches at my heart? What are those sounds that caress me so poignantly, that go straight to my soul and twine about my heart? Russia! What do you want from me? What is that mysterious, hidden bond between us?

All this has for me an indescribable charm, perhaps because I no longer see it, and because anything from which we are separated is pleasing to us.

My heart is beating as though it were waiting for something.

Ke?ke hiç olmasayd?n ?u dünyada, ke?ke sana hiç rastlamasayd?m, ke?ke canl? bir varl?k olacak yerde esinli bir ressam?n yaratt??? bir tablo olsayd?n. O zaman resminin önünden hiç ayr?lmaz, sonsuzcas?na sana bakard?m... öper, öperdim seni. Sonsuz güzel bir dü? gibi seni ya?ar, seni solur ve... mutlu olurdum.

Wonderful, darling Oksana, allow me to kiss you!" the encouraged blacksmith said and pressed her to him with the intention of snatching a kiss; but Oksana withdrew her cheeks, which were a very short distance from the blacksmith's lips, and pushed him away. "What more do you want? He's got honey and asks for a spoon! Go away, your hands are harder than iron. And you smell of smoke. I suppose you've made me all sooty.

Our country is the one our soul longs for, the one which is dearest of all to us. My country is—you! That is my native land, and I bear that country in my heart.

And at such moments his eyes would grow winning, and his features assume an expression of intense satisfaction. Yet never did these projects pass beyond the stage of debate. Likewise there lay in his study a book with the fourteenth page permanently turned down. It was a book which he had been reading for the past two years!

Dio mio, come sei bella, a volte, lunga, lunga strada. Quante volte, come un naufrago che sta per affogare mi sono afferrato a te, e tu ogni volta mi hai raccolto misericordiosa e mi hai salvato! E quante idee meravigliose sono nate in te, quante fantasie poetiche, quante impressioni stupende ho provato!

I would portray how, in one of these low clay cottages, a dark-browed town girl with quivering young breasts tosses on her solitary bed dreaming of a hussar's mustache and spurs while moonlight laughs on her cheeks.

There are so many things that I want so badly to tell you but I just can't.

She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak, I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks.

The very desire to live is the messenger of death, as the longing to be happy is the outline of sorrow. The world is an ocean of pain and fear, anxiety and despair. Pleasures are like the fishes, few and swift, coming rarely, quickly gone.