Quotes About Longing

Is it true, is it true, that your love travelled alone through ages and worlds in search of me?

In the depth of night when no one is awake to arrest me—me, the least of all men—I will silently creep to my mother's arms and fall asleep, and may I never wake again!

My heart is homesick to-day for the one sweet hour across the sea of time.

I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement. The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on. My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!

Her wistful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.

Of course, I'm dying to be about for ever so long. I'll ask the King to find me the polar star. I must have seen it often, but I don't know exactly which it is.

The traveller in the read-brown clothes that he wears that dust may not show upon him, the girl searching in her bed for the petals fallen from the wreath of her royal lover, the servant or the bride awaiting the master's home-coming in the empty house, are images of the heart turning to God.

He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it was, O miserable me! He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands, and my dreams became resonant with its melodies. Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart. The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

never be taught." The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands." Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing. Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other. They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!" The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage." The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.

The absence of human company and affection seemed to choke his heart.

a silent cry of the inmost heart for the mother, like the lowing of a calf in the twilight,—this

In the night the song came to me; but you were not there. It found the words for which I had been seeking all day. Yes, in the stillness a moment after dark they throbbed into music, even as the stars then began to pulse with light; but you were not there. My hope was to sing it to you in the morning; but, try as I might, though the music came, the words hung back, when you were beside me.

If you would be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my lake. The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret. The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair above your eyebrows. I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my heart. Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher.

The stone will melt in tears, because I can't remain closed to you forever. I can't escape without being conquered. From the blue sky an eye will gaze down, to summon me in silence. I will receive death utterly at your feet.

The blue of the sky longs for the earth's green; the wind between them sighs, "Alas." Day's pain, muffled by its own glare, burns among stars in the night.

we long for things not because they are great in themselves, but because our greed exaggerates them and makes them appear great.

This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the day.

The raindrop whispered to the jasmine, "Keep me in your heart for ever." The jasmine sighed, "Alas," and dropped to the ground.

Sana evime gel demiyorum, uçsuz bucaks?z yaln?zl???ma gel.

One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years. It sings to me in the night,--"I loved you.

This longing for the perfect expression of his self is more deeply inherent in man than his hunger and thirst for bodily sustenance, his lust for wealth and distinction.

My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant trace — some memory — of you, to hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store. When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home, their languid wings dusted with gold.

I WOULD ask for still more, if I had the sky with all its stars, and the world with its endless riches; but I would be content with the smallest corner of this earth if only she were mine