Quotes About Longing

And yet, standing behind her son, waiting for the traffic light change, she remembered how in the midst of it all there had been a time when she'd felt a loneliness so deep that once, not so many years ago, having a cavity filled, the dentist's gentle turning of her chin with his soft fingers had felt to her like a tender kindness of almost excruciating depth, and she had swallowed with a groan of longing, tears springing to her eyes.

And for a moment Annie wondered at this, that her brother and sister, good, responsible, decent, fair-minded, had never known the passion that caused a person to risk everything they had, everything they held dear heedlessly put in danger—simply to be near the white dazzle of the sun that somehow for those moments seemed to leave the earth behind.

But what Tyler longed for was to have The Feeling arrive; when every flicker of light that touched the dipping branches of a weeping willow, every breath of breeze that bent the grass towards the row of apple trees, every shower of yellow ginko leaves dropping to the ground with such direct and tender sweetness, would fill the minister with profound and irreducible knowledge that God was right there.

The house where she had raised her son—never, ever realizing that she herself had been raising a motherless child, now a long, long way from home.

An ache stayed inside her. And a faint reverberating hum of something close to joy lived on the outer edges of her memory, some kind of longing that had been answered once and was simply not answered anymore.

A yearning stirred in him that was not sexual but a kind of reaching toward her simplicity of form. He

the sight of him then broke my heart. But I was used to that feeling—I had it almost every time after I saw him.

They had never kissed, nor even touched, only passed by each other closely as they went into his office, a tiny cubicle off the library - they avoided the teachers' room. But after he said that that day, she lived with a kind of terror, and a longing that felt at times unendurable. But people endure things.

Do I understand that hurt my children feel? I think I do, though they might claim otherwise. But I think I know so well the pain we children clutch to our chests, how it lasts our whole lifetime, with longings so large you can't even weep. We hold it tight, we do, with each seizure of the beating heart: This is mine, this is mine, this is mine.

Isabelle, at different places and moments in the years to come, would sometimes be surrounded by silence and find in herself only the repeated word "Amy." "Amy, Amy"—for this was it, her heart's call, her prayer. "Amy," she would think, "Amy," remembering this day's chilly, golden air.

But an ache stayed inside her. And a faint reverberating hum of something close to joy lived on the outer edges of her memory, some kind of longing that had been answered once and was simply not answered anymore.

But it's a sad story, Lucy. Both Pam and Jim are in New York and they always will be, and I will always be here in Maine." We sat in silence while I absorbed this. Oh, he broke my heart!

But after he said that that day, she lived with a kind of terror, and a longing that felt at times unendurable. But people endure things.

But she no longer felt sadness about it, the pressure of sorrow that had overtaken her at the table, the longing for all the Burgess kids, and the sense of the irreplaceable familiarity of her old life-that had passed the way the cramping of a stomach muscle passes, and the absence of its pain was glorious.

And as time went by, the idea of seeing the girls that way again was almost as bad as not seeing them at all.

The Nietzschean nihilist could "implant into that which is degenerate and desires to die a longing for the end"—in other words, by planting the idea of decline in society one could actually hasten its demise.11

Een mens wordt nu eenmaal meer bepaald door de liefde die hem is onthouden, dan door de liefde die hij kreeg.

Zolang wij onze dierbaren om ons heen hebben, houden wij van ze om alles wat ze uitzonderlijk maakt, maar zijn ze weg dan missen wij vooral hun dagelijks doen.

And he drank, and the more he drank the more he longed to drink, because the wine was enchanted.

A great thing he could never do, but he had longed to do a true thing, to imagine sincere and genuine pages.

I cannot sleep for dreaming; I cannot dream but I wake and walk about the house as though I'd find you coming through some door.

I have not moved from there to here without I think to please you, and still an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

I may think of you softly from time to time. But I'll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.

How much of life could he spend aching? Aching is not a stable condition; it must resolve into something