Quotes About Longing

I no longer ask for all the loneliness of love or the tranquility of love or for the mirrors.

I remember that a couple, both tall and thin, turned away from a painting and peered over as if I might be an ex-lover or a living (and unfinished) painting that had just got news of the painter's death. I know I walked out without looking back and that I walked for a long time until I realized I wasn't crying, but that it was raining and I was soaked. That night I didn't sleep at all.

Una semana sin ver a Maciste se me antojaba una eternidad. Pero cuando intentaba imaginar una vida completa junto a él no veía nada: una imagen en blanco, la pared de un cuarto deshabitado, amnesia, lobotomía, mi cuerpo partido, hecho pedazos.

It would be interesting to remember the dreams I had here, at the Del Mar, more than ten years ago. I probably dreamed about girls and punishment, the way all boys that age do.

That sense of time, ah, the diseased man's sense of time, what treasure hidden in a desert cave.

First, the need to be near Liz Norton struck some time before he got back to his apartment in Madrid. By the time he was on the plane he'd realized that she was the perfect woman, the one he'd always hoped to find, and he began to suffer.

she knew he was a prisoner and wanted to escape, she knew that love, no matter how mistreated or mutilated, always left room for hope, and that hope was her plan (or the other way around), and that its materialization, its objectification

Si osservano per un istante, senza sorridere, come due piccoli piranha che nuotano in una camera a vuoto assoluto. Poi Jan disse: «Mi piacerebbe leggere qualcosa di tuo».

she knew he was a prisoner and wanted to escape, she knew that love, no matter how mistreated or mutilated, always left room for hope, and that hope was her plan (or the other way around)

A veces me acuerdo de Laura Damián. No mucho, unas cuatro o cinco veces por día.

When Espinoza was left alone (his flight was an hour later), his thoughts turned to Liz Norton and his real chances of wooing her. He imagined her and then he imagined himself, side by side, sharing an apartment in Madrid, going to the supermarket, both of them working in the German department. He imagined his office and her office, separated by a wall, and nights in Madrid next to her, eating with friends at good restaurants, and, back at home, an enormous bathtub, an enormous bed. •

What am I guilty of, then? Of having loved and continuing to love- no, not of loving: of longing.

Follar es lo único que desean los que van a morir.

Yeah, great at the physical level level, but I still need more. Sorry. Maybe someday I'll accidentally fall in love with you after all, and we'll be right back here.

The knowledge that he had left me with no intent ever to return had come over me in tiny droplets of realization spread over the years. And each droplet of comprehension brought its own small measure of hurt...He had wished me well in finding my own fate to follow, and I never doubted his sincerity. But it had taken me years to accept that his absence in my life was a deliberate finality, an act he had chosen, a thing completed even as some part of my soul still dangled, waiting for his return.

You know what I feel for you. You have known it for years. Let us not, you and I, alone here, pretend that you don't. You know I love you. I always have. I always will

Sometimes it seemed to me a cruelty that so much was unresolved between us; at other times, a blessing that a hope of reunion lingered.

sometimes it only makes one more lonely to know that somewhere else, one's friends and family are well.

Remember with your heart. Go back, go back and go back. The skies of this world were always meant to have dragons. When they are not here, humans miss them. Some never think of them, of course. But some children, from the time they are small, they look up at the blue summer sky and watch for something that never comes. Because they know. Something that was supposed to be there faded and vanished. Something that we must bring back, you and I.

Too many folk, women and men, love the person they wish to be, as if by loving that person, or being loved by that person, they could attain the importance they long for.

You have been with me, as close as the tips of my fingers, even when we were years and seas apart. Your being was like the hum of a plucked string at the edge of my hearing, or a scent carried on a breeze. Did not you feel it so?

The loneliness that can never be filled by anyone except the one whose loss created the absence;

It was possible to be homesick for a time, and to be lonely for the only other person who could recall it.

I was lonely, and a lonely heart has hungers that can overpower both common sense and dignity.