Quotes About Longing

You've been gone for decades, you hid deep in my lakes, why now, why infect my dreams now? What flood is this?

Perfect name, the waiting room, waiting, waiting we were waiting, wait with me, Doc, wait and hope was the motto of Edmond Dantès, the Count of Monte Cristo, and did you know that the Spanish word for waiting and hoping is the same, so why couldn't we call this the hoping room, or would that be too depressing, why introduce our desires into the mix, who wants to be reminded of his longing?

My heart had momentarily found its pestle.

Nicio pierdere nu se simte mai acut decat pierderea a ceea ce ar fi putut sa fie. Nicio nostalgie nu doare la fel de mult ca nostalgia dupa lucrurile care n-au existat niciodata.

Home is never where she is, but where she is not.

Le melodie ascoltate sono dolci, ma più dolci ancora sono quelle inascoltate, scrisse Keats. Nessuna perdita viene avvertita più profondamente della perdita di ciò che sarebbe potuto essere. Nessuna nostalgia fa male quanto la nostalgia per le cose che non sono mai esistite.

I lie on my side, head sunk in the pillow, waiting for first light, for the lift of the curtain, waiting for you, how your right hand used to entwine with my left in a slow dance, how our bodies fit in bed, yet you didn't show up.

No nostalgia is felt as keenly as nostalgia for things that never existed. I

From Pessoa: "Ah, it's my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me.

The fundamental desire of life is the desire to exist.

My dearest life, I know you are not mine forever; but do love me even if it's for this moment. After that I shall vanish into the forest where you cast me, I won't ask anyone for anything again. Give me something that can last me till I die.

Only Thee That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry ---`I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is ---`I want thee, only thee'.

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire. The gleaming vision flits on. I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.

Alas for our foolish human nature! Its fond mistakes are persistent. The dictates of reason take a long time to assert their own sway. The surest proofs meanwhile are disbelieved. False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence. It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers.

A fancy comes to me--that desire can never attain its object--it need never attain it.

Tell him Sudha has not forgotten him.

One clings desperately to some vain hope, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and then it breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone? In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope. If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours. I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.

Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.

I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore---Alas for me! The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger. The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall. What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the other shore?