Quotes About Longing

Lat Love me faithfullySee how I am faithfulWith all my heartAnd all my soulI am with youThough I am far away.

Lust will curdle like milk if you don't keep using it up.

Alas my love you do me wrong, To cast me of discurteously; And I have loved you so long, Delighting in your company.

"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,"A bed for you and me!""Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,"Till anes we married be!"

O waly, waly, up the bank,And waly, waly, doun the brae,And waly, waly, yon burnside,Where I and my Love wont to gae!

Cras amet qui nunquam amavit quique amavit cras amet [Tomorrow let him love who has never loved and tomorrow let him who has loved love].

Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,Way-hay, you rolling river!Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,Ha-ha, we're bound away,'Cross the wide Missouri!

My darling one....I shall be thinking of you while you are away and hope you will remember to wrap up warm when you go out at night.

It is a great mystery that though the human heart longs for Truth, in which alone it finds liberation and delight, the first reaction of human beings to Truth is one of hostility and fear!

Now the tragedy of an attachment is that if its object is not attained it causes unhappiness. But if it is attained, it does not cause happiness—it merely causes a flash of pleasure followed by weariness; and it is always accompanied, of course, by the anxiety that you may lose the object of your attachment.

A shell screams over the house. He thinks: I only want to sit here with her for a thousand hours.

quick-witted, an open book in her lap; inside her chest pulses something huge, something full of longing, something unafraid.

He thinks: I only want to sit here with her for a thousand hours.

Werner thinks of her, whether he wishes to or not. Girl with a cane, girl in a gray dress, girl made of mist. That air of otherworldliness in the snarls of her hair and the fearlessness of her step. She takes up residence inside him, a living doppelgänger to face down the dead Viennese girl who haunts him every night.

Maybe the idea was that he could write so many letters, deliver so many envelopes back to Sandy, eventually he'd have sent all of himself, and could exist more there than he did here.

Nothing that could fit on this page, or a hundred of these pages, would possibly accommodate all the things I should say to you, all the things you deserve to hear.

She has had two lovers. The first was a visiting scientist who never returned, and the second was a Canadian named John who scattered things—ties, coins, socks, breath mints—around any room he entered.

He is a ghost. He is from some other world. He is Papa, Madame Manec, Etienne; he is everyone who has left her finally coming back. Through the panel he calls, "I am not killing you. I am hearing you. On radio. Is why I come." He pauses, fumbling to translate. "The song, light of the moon?" She almost smiles.

inside her chest pulses something huge, something full of longing, something unafraid.

Fifteen and a half years as incontestable, a continent he'd never visit, a staircase he'd never climb.

He is a ghost. He is from some other world. He is Papa, Madame Manec, Etienne; he is everyone who has left her finally coming back.

The bookseller said it's in two parts, and this is the first. I thought that next year, if we keep saving, we can get the second—

She wants very badly for her father to say, Yes, that's it absolutely, ma chérie, but he says nothing.

Don't you miss the world?" He is quiet; so is she. Both ride spirals of memory.