Quotes About Longing

I think spring is inside me. I feel spring awakening, I feel it in my entire body and soul. I have to force myself to act normally. I'm in a state of utter confusion, don't know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that I'm longing for something...

I wonder if it's because I haven't been able to poke my nose outdoors for so long that I've grown so crazy about everything to do with Nature?

Whenever someone comes in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head under the blankets to keep from thinking, "When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?

When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?

Peter Wessel and Peter Van Daan have grown into one Peter, who is beloved and good, and for whom I long desperately.

times like these, Father, Mother and Margot don't matter to me in the least. I wander from room to room, climb up and down the stairs and feel like a songbird whose wings have been ripped off and who keeps hurling itself against the bars of its dark cage. 'Let me out, where there's fresh air and laughter!' a voice within me cries. I don't even bother to reply any more, but lie down on the divan.

My longing to talk to someone became so intense that somehow or other I took it into my head to choose Peter.

Let me out, where there's fresh air and laughter! a voice within me cries.

One minute I'm longing for peace and quiet, and the next for a little fun. We've forgotten how to laugh.

I'm in a state of utter confusion, don't know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that I'm longing for something...

wander from room to room, climb up and down the stairs and feel like a songbird whose wings have been ripped off and who keeps hurling itself against the bars of its dark cage.

But feelings can't be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem. I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that I'm free, and yet I can't let it show.

but I long to have a really good time for once and to laugh so hard it hurts. We're stuck in this house like lepers

December 24th, 1943 ...I long to have a really good time for once and to laugh so hard it hurts...Actually, I shouldn't even be writing this, since it makes me seem so ungrateful, but I can't keep everything to myself, so I'll repeat what I said at the beginning: Paper is more patient than people.

Fietsen, dansen, fluiten, de wereld in kijken, me jong voelen, weten dat ik vrij ben, daar snak ik naar en toch mag ik het niet laten zien, want denk er eens aan als we alle acht ons gingen beklagen of ontevreden gezichten zouden zetten, waar moet dat naartoe?

This is because having to obey one concept of right is inherently unjust. God has given each of us a unique sense of right, so when we are forced to live under someone else's for years and years, we run the risk of losing our own. But not everyone can be crushed. Sooner or later the longing for freedom is bound to assert itself.

For twenty years I have ached to go back home, when there was nobody there to whom I could return.

We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.

I understood that the man I was calling for could never ever come back. Because I understood that the man that I was calling for was dead.

writing is about telling the truth. We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason they write so very little.

Those plates would be filled with love, pride, and connection. That care is what we have longed for our whole lives, and what we create when we are kinder to our bodies and our hungry souls.

I was raised in a culture that promotes this competitiveness, this insatiability, this fantasy of needing hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, and then, in the next breath, shames you for any feelings of longing or envy or fear that it will always be someone else's turn. I was only doing what I had been groomed to do.

good writing is about telling the truth. We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason they write so very little. But

The dead leave us starving with mouths full of love.