Quotes About Longing

I'M STARVED FOR YOU

On these occasions I read quickly, voraciously, almost skimming, trying to get as much into my head as possible before the next long starvation. If it were eating it would be the gluttony of the famished; if it were sex it would be a swift furtive stand-up in an alley somewhere.

He has been trying to sing Love into existence again And he has failed.

How potent was that word. With. He could never get used to her, she was fresh every time, she was a casketful of secrets. Any moment now she would open herself up, reveal to him the essential thing, the hidden thing at the core of life, or of her life, or of his life – the thing he was longing to know. The thing he'd always wanted. What would it be?

Do you hunger for me, do you burn for me

In queste occasioni leggo velocemente, con voracità, saltando qualche parola e cercando di riempirmi la testa il più possibile prima di un nuovo, lungo periodo di astinenza. Se fossero un genere commestibile queste letture smorzerebbero l'ingordigia dell'affamato, se fossero sesso equivarrebbero a un veloce amplesso furtivo, in qualche vicolo.

At first I was given centuries to wait in caves, in leather tents, knowing you would never come back

I watched your snapshot fade for twenty years.

she'd have been gnawing her way through his bedroom walls to sink her avid fingers into his youthful flesh.

A romantika valahol a középtávolban zajlik. A romantika nem más, mint benézni önmagadhoz harmattól párás ablakon át. A romantika nem más, mint kihagyni bizonyos dolgokat: ahol az élet röfög és szortyog, ott a romantika csak sóhajt.

Part of the life she should have had is just a gap, it isn't there, it's nothing.

She was something of his own that he had lost.

Is that all there is? they must be thinking. Shouldn't it be less ordinary, more sordid, more epic, more truly harrowing, this flesh wound of your? Tell us more! Couldn't we please crank up the pain?

I am in love with his need

But what if she discovers the truth? What he suspects is the truth. That he's patchwork, a tin man, his heart stuffed with sawdust. He thinks of her waiting for him, somewhere else, an island, subtropical, not muggy, her long hair waving in the sea breeze, a red hibiscus tucked behind one ear. If he's lucky she'll wait till that happens, till he can get there to be with her.

But now here they are, right in front of me. It's like seeing unicorns. I want to hear them purr.

What would that be like - to long, to yearn for someone who is right there before your eyes, day in and day out?

For the ones who come after you, it will be easier. They will accept their duties with willing hearts. She did not say: Because they will have no memories, of any other way. She said: Because they won't want things they can't have.

What he couldn't have in life he might still catch sight of through his art: just a glimpse, from the corner of his eye

The times when she was away were hard for Jimmy. He worried about her, he longed for her, he resented her for not being there.

But all my love ever came to was a bad end. Red-hot shoes, barrels studded with nails. That's what it feels like, unrequited love. She had a baby, too. I was never allowed. Everything you ever wanted, I wanted also.

I want to see what can be seen, of him, take him in, memorize him, save him up so I can live on the image, later: the lines of his body, the texture of his flesh, the glisten of sweat on his pelt, his long sardonic unrevealing face.

The next few weeks were the worst he could remember. Too many things were coming back to him, too much of what he'd lost - or - sadder - had never had in the first place. All that wasted time, and he didn't even know who'd wasted it.

The bad bones have been bad, so they are better left unsaid. They are better left unsaying. But they were never happy, they always wanted more, they were always hungry. They can smell the words, the words coming out of your mouth all warm and yeasty. They want some words of their own. They'll be back.