Quotes About Longing

I've known him so long, since the world began. And I'm joined to him for all eternity. Why do these bonds seem like chains to him? All I want is to call his name and hear him answer.

And all I long for is the dawn!

I've longed for fulfillment and all I find is torment. I had to choose between peace and passion. I chose passion, fool that I was!

EDMUND: It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a sea gull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!

As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death.

ANNA [After a pause dreamily.] Funny! I do feel sort of nutty, to-night. I feel old. CHRIS [Mystified. ] Old? ANNA Sure like I'd been living a long, long time out here in the fog. [Frowning perplexedly.] I don't know how to tell you yust what I mean.

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Your arms, so wonderful! When I die, come embrace me, But take off your sweater first.

You know what it's like," said Storm, "when you want to--just--pour a woman into a glass and--just-drink her--just drink her down, one gulp, body and soul?

Even the kingdom of evil came to seem to me like only the empty space where true love might have been.

And music, your music, it teases at my ear. I turn and it fades away and you're not here! Let hopes pass! Let dreams pass! Let them die! Without you, what are they for? I always feel no more than half-way real 'til I hear you sing once more!

He returned her love. He lusted after her sweet young body. He wanted her the way he wanted to breathe the spring air. He had never loved anyone before. He had not known even what this feeling for his tiny slave was. Now in the crisp, clear spring sunlight, he knew.

I want to drink you in with my eyes till I am intoxicated forever.

His heart was now beating rapidly. He wanted to embrace her, cover her with kisses, caress her hair, touch her breast, stroke her thighs: he wanted to sing songs for her, dance dances for her, write poems for her.

His routine had drawn him so deep inside himself that he feared the flood of memories her words on the postcard might unleash. He was afraid of wanting her again and all that it would mean. Finally, he read her postcard. He read it three times. He remembered how it had been.

It's easy to lose yourself here," he said. "If only," she said, and laughed, vying with the wind, trying to keep the hair out of her eyes. It had copper strands, he could see now, that bright hair. It seemed to hold the only light in the dusk of the day. "If only." He nodded. If only. And then they parted.

In the daytime, when the sun is young, My heart aches for thee. I take a flute and blow it. I go out wandering. Taking a long sword, I go away into the night; I go away under the dark sky. I fear nothing...

She'd become an idea. She was an abstract thing I wanted, a thing that I already had , really, if I could keep it.

New York, which I had complained about for so long, became a beacon, a place I missed terribly whenever I was away and then glutted myself on until I was sick when I came back. You move away from the city and suddenly everyone wants to have drinks. Nobody'll hang out unless you leave.

She'd been surprised by the pang that the idea of the place gave her. She didn't think of herself as a romantic about location, even though she was secretly romantic about everything.

But won't you miss me?" . . . "I already do," he said.

Had we but world enough, and time,This coyness, lady, were no crime.

Had we but World enough, and Time, This coyness Lady were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.

She knows about men, knows a good deal of the world's character. But it is hard, whatever you have endured, to give up on love. Hard to stop thinking of it as a home you might one day find again. More than hard.