Quotes About Longing

All men hear is blah, blah, blah, blah, SEX, blah, blah, blah, FOOD, blah, blah, blah, BEER.

Love is this feeling that you would give anything for another. You would climb to the moon and steal the stars from the sky if she asked it. You want to shelter her and protect her, yes. But it's more than that. When you walk into a room, she is the first one you look for. Her laughter brightens your day, and when she is hurt, you are, too. It's the warm feeling that fills your soul when she is near. A mere touch of her hand sends you to your knees with wanting.

I have traveled outside the mountains, but never lived apart from them. I always feared mountains would be as jealous, as unforgiving, as any spurned lover. Leave them and they may never take you back. Besides, I never felt a need to go. There is enough to study in these hills to last a lifetime.

His hat nudged her forehead, tipping back as he deepened the kiss and drew her closer. His jaw was rough against her palm, and she savored the feel of it before slipping her fingers through the soft waves at his nape and straight up through the back of his hair. His hat hit the ground. "Abby . . ." he whispered. It was a plea, and she gladly answered it with her mouth. She loved the raspy drawl of her shortened name on his lips.

I can't do this." She opened her eyes. "I can't do this, Beau." "Why not?" "This can't . . . go anywhere. I'll be leaving soon and—" "So don't. Don't go." She pushed away, and his arms fell. "I have to. It won't be safe here forever.

Two more days?" "Eager to see me go?" That knowing grin. He did things to her insides, and he knew it.

Know what you do to me, city girl?" The question seemed to ease her mind. The corner of her lips curled up. "Good to know.

I love you, Jade. I have for a long time, and I'm sure not going to stop now." She

Jake played the message again, catching the details this time. She was leaving the kids to him? Leaving them here? He swiped the phone off the table, and it hit the wall with a thump. This wasn't what he wanted. Yes, he wanted the kids, but not at Meridith's expense; they needed her. He needed her. Hadn't she listened to his messages? Didn't she know he loved her? If only he could make her believe it. How

A curly wisp of hair had come loose from her updo, kissing the side of her face. Seth longed to brush it behind her ear, to feel the silky smoothness of her skin under the pad of his thumb. He clenched his fist before he followed through and got his hand smacked away.

He thought of their kiss—had it really been two days ago? The image of Zac's kiss barreled into his mind. When everyone had filtered into the dining room for cinnamon rolls, Beau had confiscated the mistletoe. If anyone was getting another kiss from Kate, it was going to be him.

I'm not ready for you to go." His voice was thick and smoky.

He didn't want to share his life with a couple stinky cowboys. He wanted Shay back. He wanted them to be a family, Shay, Olivia, and him. He wanted to share Shay's bed, to wake up and see her face every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to hear Olivia call for "Dad" again and know she was calling for him.

Maybe he should go after her. Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe she was missing him as much as he missed her. Finding her would be a challenge, but that had never stopped him before. Surely she'd left a forwarding address with the post office. But no. That's what her psycho, controlling late husband would have done: hunt her down. She needed to be free to make her own choice. And she had.

It had been so long, a full five months since he'd left. Since she had tossed him from the property. What would she say when she saw him? He feared she'd kick him from her land without giving him a chance to explain. Travis wiped his sweaty palms down the length of his thigh. She'd hear him out whether she wanted to or not. He'd tossed her over his shoulder once before, and he'd do it again. He loved her, and it was time she believed it.

I missed you most of all, you know," he said. "You were my best friend.

She traced the shape of those lips. They were damp and plush and too far away. "You have really nice lips. I missed them." One side of them kicked up, his eyes opening. "Is that all you missed?" She couldn't count on both hands everything she'd missed about Beau. About the Callahans, about Summer Harbor.

His lips began moving with the lyrics. Every long-lost dream . . . He was singing them to her, and she wanted to believe he meant them. Believe he felt the way the song's writer had, that the other women had only been a sign pointing him back to her.

As much as he might lie to himself, tell himself it was real, it wasn't. All the public displays in the world didn't give him the right to kiss her or hold her or even touch her. Her response made that clear enough. And yet, he'd thought he'd seen something in her eyes. Something promising. Something hopeful. Maybe Layla's feelings were starting to change. Maybe she'd be willing to give him another chance. Or maybe it was only wishful thinking.

I know I let you down before. I know I hurt you, and I'll have to earn back your trust. I'll be as patient as I need to be, only please let me prove it to you. Let me prove that I'm here to stay. I've never wanted anything so badly in my whole life.

His heart stirred with a yearning desire. Desire to protect her, desire to hold her and love her.

Since Stephen had arrived, Jake had gone over and over the way Meridith had greeted him. The way he'd greeted her, with an apathetic kiss and a tame hello. If it had been him, missing his woman for weeks, he'd have swept her into his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless. He didn't get it. Movement

He remembered the way she looked wearing his hat, remembered the warmth of her in his arms as they danced, their first kiss in the barn when he'd been rocked by the riot she'd caused inside him. There was nothing he didn't remember. Including the way she looked at him, like he hung the moon and the stars. It was the look Dylan referred to, the one that convinced his friend her feelings were real. Wade would give anything to have her here now, looking at him like that.

As Andersen told it, the tale was not for young children, not even called 'The Little'-just, 'The Mermaid.' It's about love and grief, a myth of longing and sacrifice, far closer, say, to Goethe's Parable than to any jovial folktale, much less to today's manufactured juvenile distractions.