Quotes About Longing

There's a land—oh, it beckons and beckons, And I want to go back—and I will.

You do see me crossing the meadow stiff and dead from the mist? I long for that home, that home I've never had, and without any hope that I'll ever be able to reach it. For such a home, never touched, I carry that longing that will never die, like that meadow dies stiff and dead from the mist. You do see me crossing it, full of dread?

Man paßt dahin, wohin man sich sehnt.

Mir fehlt etwas, wenn ich keine Musik höre, und wenn ich Musik höre, fehlt mir erst recht etwas. Dies ist das Beste, was ich über Musik zu sagen weiß.

I am dying of the incomprehension of those who could have seen me and held me, dying of the emptiness of cautious and clever people, and of the lovelessness of hesitancy and not-much-liking.

there come moments when we know we are no more and no less than waves and snowflakes, or than that which surely feels, now and then, from its so wonderfully charming confinement, the pull of longing: the leaf.

Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.

Of course I long for her, but in honesty I must say that I would rather long for her than have her continuously present. Travel agents assure us that 'getting there is half the fun'; I might say with at least equal truth that longing is some of the best of loving.

I think our love was all the better for being stretched out by our necessity to study hard to keep up with our work. To have all the time in the world to devote to love may be idyllic for a summer, but linked sweetness long drawn out is the greater luxury. [...] During these summer absences, I longed for her, and wrote to her, and loved her more than ever, abstinence sharpening the appetite.

what would you do if all the lovers of your years passed by at midnight dressed in the flesh they wore when you last loved them? what do I do? what do I say? I loved you then, I touch you now with all the glow you left in the palm of my hands.

had been years since he had felt the excitement of romantic love. For a couple of weeks he hadn't even recognized

and her light brown eyes sparkled above her surgical mask. Philips would have loved to have touched her, but instead let his eyes linger for an extra second on hers.

It doesn't matter if I'm only to be gone four days, as in this case; I take six months' supply of reading material everywhere. Anyone who needs further explication of this eccentricity can find it usefully set out in the first pages of W. Somerset Maugham's story The Book-Bag.

and again she wished for Sherwood, and the dappled roof of leaves that never weighed upon her. She pulled her scarf closer around her and thought, I would rather live in a hut in the woods; a hut like the one of my first memories, with a clean-swept dirt floor, and a brown-eyed boy watching me from behind his mother's skirts as I watched him from behind mine.

She wished for Ebono as she wished every time she saw Lrrianay at her father's shoulder, or any pegasus at any bond-mate's shoulder, or any pegasus. Or any time she took a breath, she wished again for Ebon.

screen that was longing to give me a lightning-bolt-thunder-roll odin-bloody headache

I DREAMED. I dreamed as if the dream was waiting for me

A.A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh: "If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.

The lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul.

In pleasant peace and security How suddenly the soul in a man begins to die He shall look up above the stalled oxen Envying the cruel falcon, And dig under the straw for a stone To bruise himself on.

The flesh of my body Is nothing in my longing. What you think I want Will be pure dust after hundreds of years and something from me be crying to something from you High up in their air.

tightened his gut and sent him to the border of craving. Soon she'd leave Niroli; until she did, he had to keep this urgent appetite

She tasted like buried treasure and swing sets and coffee. She tasted the way fireworks felt, like something you could get close to but never really have just for yourself.

She wanted this too. She wanted me to watch her. She wanted me to follow her. She wanted to feel my eyes. She wanted to lift me out of death.