Quotes About Longing

In Warsaw in Poland Half the world away, The one I love best of all Thought of me to-day; I know, for I went Winged as a bird, In the wide flowing wind His own voice I heard; His arms were round me In a ferny place, I looked in the pool And there was his face– But now it is night And the cold stars say: 'Warsaw in Poland Is half the world away.

Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow, Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow, Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain– But what if I heard my first love calling me again? Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam, Take me far away to the hills that hide your home; Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door– But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?

It will not hurt me when I am old, A running tide where moonlight burned Will not sting me like silver snakes; The years will make me sad and cold, It is the happy heart the breaks. The hearts asks more than life can give, When that is learned, then all is learned; The waves break fold on jewelled fold, But beauty itself is fugitive, It will not hurt me when I am old.

To-night I close my eyes and see A strange procession passing me– The years before I saw your face Go by me with a wistful grace; They pass, the sensitive, shy years, As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears. The years went by and never knew That each one brought me nearer you; Their path was narrow and apart And yet it led me to your heart– Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years, That strove to sing with voices drown in tears.

I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be Lost as a light is lost in light. Oh plunge me deep in love--put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.

There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. . . Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.

You were never what I wanted to forget.

I'm talking about the ones who, for whatever reason, are as much a part of you as your own soul. Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless. If you had a lifetime to talk, there would still be things left unsaid.

and i don't just mean that they change you. a lot of people can change you - the first kid who called you a name, the first teacher who said you were smart, the first person who crowned you best friend. it's the change you remember, the firsts and what they meant, not really the people......i'm talking about the ones who, for whatever reason, are as much a part of you has your own soul. their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business.

It's a jagged thing in my throat, how much I miss her.

And that's what we're truly longing for. On those weekends when we're suddenly gripped with the urge to watch all three extended editions of The Lord of the Rings, what we really want, deep down inside (besides therapy), is the assurance that there is a realm someplace where evil has been conquered once and for all.

we hunger for other worlds. We long to go beyond the streets we know, beyond our familiar woods and fields, and into the land of Faerie; to Middle-earth, Narnia, or Summerland; to the kingdom east of the sun and west of the moon. This longing isn't incidental.

To the God-hungry imagination, the fallen world is a crummy place much of the time; we rightly long for the land at the back of the wardrobe, the kingdom east of the sun and west of the moon.

How exactly are you supposed to force your way into someone's life? Like I said, I have nothing she wants anymore. Not even, or especially not, my love.

I find it hard to hate a man who brings you exactly what you didn't even know you craved.

I came to accept in myself a long time ago that I really do like writing articulate sociopaths.

And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

Until there was you, I wandered aimlessly. For a long time, like a little child, I will cry in anticipation of you.

After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting. It is not logical, but is often true.

I was told that I had very likely been clinically depressed for a long, long time, probably since I was 15, or even 14. It explained, to me at least, a lot of my behaviour over the years.

I yearn for things, but at the same time I am just peaceful.

What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis; Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.