Quotes About Longing

It is the tenderness that breaks our hearts. The loveliness that leaves us stranded on the shore, watching the boats sail away. It is the sweetness that makes us want to reach out and touch the soft skin of another person. And it is the grace that comes to us, undeserving though we may be. — Robert Goolrick, The End of the World as We Know It: Scenes from a Life (Algonquin Books, March 23, 2007)

In order to acheive you must dream, to dream you must desire, to desire you must love.

The awful longing in his eyes, are changed forever On their rocky waste of island by their imagination Of his imagination of the song they didn't sing.

Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.

Nostalgia locates desire in the past where it suffers no active conflict and can be yearned toward pleasantly.

She heard melody and harmony and counterpoint; he heard something calling him from far, far away.

He knew that he'd known her for less than a week, but now that she was gone he was continually probing his feelings for her, the way he might probe a sore tooth with his tongue, engaging her in imaginary conversations, imagining her saying such delightful things.

You won't know true happiness ... till you give up your heart's desire.

You say to me-wards your affection's strong;Pray love me little, so you love me long.

To Sycamores I'm sick of Love; O let me lie Under your shades, to sleep or die! Either is welcome; so I have Or here my Bed, or here my Grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears, that I do weep? Say, have ye sence, or do you prove What Crucifixions are in Love? I know ye do; and that's the why, You sigh for Love, as well as I

The truth is, the science of Nature has been already too long made only a work of the brain and the fancy: It is now high time that it should return to the plainness and soundness of observations on material and obvious things.

You don't want to walk and talk about Jesus, You just want to see his face. —Keith Richards / Mick Jagger (1972)

Robin felt a strange thrill of glory at the thought that he bore with him, in virtue of his priesthood only, so much consolation. He faces for the the first time that tremendous call of which he had heard so much in Rheims- that desolate cry of souls that longed and longed in vain for those gifts of which a priest of Christ could alone bestow...

sloppy kiss, and then I said, "Someone'll

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Sweetest name I know, Fills my every longing, Keeps me singing as I go.

How lovely is Your tabernacle, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, even faints for the courts of the Lord. – Psalm 84:1–2

She wore ribbons in her black hair and clung to her dreams

Robert, there's a creature inside of you that I'm not good enough to bring out, not strong enough to reach. I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about. You frighten me, even though you're gentle with me. If I didn't fight to control myself with you, I feel like I might lose my center and never get back.

Francesca was feeling good feelings, old feelings, poetry and music feelings.

I made that horn sound like it never had before; I made it cry for all the miles and years that separated them.

She was more of a business partner to him than anything else. Some of her appreciated that. But rustling yet within her was another person who wanted to bathe and perfume herself...and be taken, carried away, and peeled back by a force she could sense, but never articulate, even dimly within her mind.

Ecco perché sono su questo pianeta, in questo tempo, Francesca. Non per viaggiare o fare fotografie, ma per amarti. Adesso lo so. Per molti più anni di quanti non ne abbia vissuti, ho continuato a precipitare dall'orloo di un luogo immenso e altissimo. E in tutti questi anni precipitato verso di te

I don't want to need you, 'cause I can't have you.

I just stand here, about twilight, makin' that ol' horn weep, and I play that tune for a man named Robert Kincaid and a woman he called Francesca.