Quotes About Longing

I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido.

Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido. (Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.)

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Well, now If little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you Little by little If suddenly you forget me Do not look for me For I shall already have forgotten you If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots Remember That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms And my roots will set off to seek another land

Tonight I can write the saddest lines I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.

Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands....

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

What they don't know is that we all belong to the places we've never even been before. If there's any kind of legitimate nostalgia, it's for everything we've never seen, the women we've never slept with, never dreamed of, the friends we haven't made, the books we haven't read, all that food steaming in the pots we've never eaten out of. That's the only kind of real nostalgia there is.

I don't know. Sometimes, I look at Helen. And she's a nice girl and all that. She's pretty. But I feel I'm missing something. I look at Helen, I say: "I must have felt something special to marry this girl.

jejune longing is the chewing gum of life.

MRS. HOLLINGSWORTH LIKES TO traipse. Her primary worry is thinning pubic hair, though this has not happened yet. She is bothered that a thought of this sort could occur to her at all, let alone with some frequency. She enjoys a solidarity with fruit. She is wistful for the era in which hatboxes proliferated, though a hatbox is not something even her grandmother may have owned.

we eat for our stomachs, but we hunger with our hearts.

Oh my, how the world still dearly loves a cage." —TESS LYNCH, WRITER, GENTLEWOMAN, AND ESSAYIST

Conversations in French bubble around me like a long-forgotten perfume I am desperate to inhale. Familiar words trickle back, first in a stream then a river, though I've scarcely heard them in half a century.

La sua premura è una goccia d'acqua, però, incapace di riempire l'oceano di vuoto che ho nel cuore.

It had been a long time since she had allowed a man to put his arms around her, to let herself relax into the warmth of his presence.

I wish Darcangelo were here. He'd fucking hate this.

How do you feel?" Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed. "Like I want you to kiss me again." And _that_ was the invitation he'd been waiting for.

He wanted to taste nothing unless it was the sweetness of her mouth, the musk of her arousal, the salt of her tears, wanted to touch nothing unless it was the silk of her hair, her soft curves, wanted to breathe nothing unless it had come from her lungs.

I want to undress you." "I haven't touched a man since...since you.