Quotes About Longing

I wanted to tell her that sometimes, in my long sleep, I dreamt of her

If only I could talk Ã¢â'¬Â¦ —Doctor Ellington, the cat

The words of explanation Edward long to say grew tangled in smoky perfume and wet tendrils of long fair hair, conflicting thoughts of assassins and magic, insane monks and false nuns and holy quests and somewhere, long ago, the tale of a wild witch of the wood with whom, if a man fell in love, he was lost forever....

Ä°nsan?n sevdiklerini aÄŸlarken görmesi ne korkunç bir manzara. Bütün geri dönüÅŸü olmayan vedalaÅŸmalar? hat?rlat?yor bana. SoÄŸuk istasyonlardaki gözyaÅŸlar?, trenlerin ac?mas?z arka ???klar?... Bir aÅŸk?n sonu... Lütfen, bir daha hiç aÄŸlama. -Milena Jesenska

A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison," written when she was eighty, she says she passed through a painful period of longing for her own people before she began to identify as a Seneca, but within four years—the same period during which Olive was with the Mohaves—"I had become so accustomed to their mode of living, habits, and dispositions, that my anxiety to get away …had almost subsided. 9 She

You give me a great desire to love.

Soon you give up, don't look for her anymore, either in the town or at night or in the daytime. Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

When you wept it was just over yourself and not because of the marvelous impossibility of reaching her through the difference that separates you.

I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.

Perhaps someone will have seen mine, the one I'm waiting for, just as I saw him, in a ditch when his hands were making their last appeal and his eyes no longer could see. Someone who will never know what that man was to me; someone whose name I'll never know.

Nunca he escrito, creyendo hacerlo, nunca he amado, creyendo amar, nunca he hecho nada salvo esperar delante de la puerta cerrada.

I think about you but I don't say it anymore.

Avant et maintenant c'est l'amour entre toi et moi. Ce sera ce que tu voudrais, toi, que tu sois.

La historia está ahí, inevitable ya. La de un amor cegador. Siempre por venir, jamás olvidado.

Il se taisait toujours sur les images qu'il voyait derrière ses yeux fermés. On aurait dit qu'il aimait cette douleur, qu'il l'aimait comme il m'avait aimée, très fort, jusqu'à mourir peut-être, et que maintenant il la préférait à moi. »

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened." ? Marguerite Duras, The Malady of Death

No le conozco a usted. Nadie puede conocerle, ponerse en su lugar, usted no tiene lugar, no sabe dónde encontrar un lugar. Por ello le quiero y usted está perdido.

Ese insensato amor que le profeso sigue siendo para mí un insondable misterio. No sé por qué le quería hasta ese extremo de querir morir de su muerte. Hacía diez años que nos habíamos separado y cuando eso sucedió raramente pensaba en él, le quería, parece, para siempre y nada nuevo podía alcanzar ese amor. Yo había olvidado la muerte.

Nos permitíamos el lujo de no querer comer

What could Maria call the time that opened ahead of her? The certainty of her hope? This rejuvenated air she was breathing? This incandescence, this bursting of a love at last without object?

eux ils entendaient leur jeunesse frapper à leurs portes comme un oiseau enfermé.[...] C'était l'hymne de l'avenir, des départs, du terme de l'impatience. Ce qu'ils attendaient c'était de rejoindre cet air né du vertige des villes pour lequel il était fait, où il se chantait, des villes croulantes, fabuleuses, pleines d'amour.

Peste câÈ›iva ani, când te voi fi uitat si când, prin forÈ›a obiÈ™nuinÈ›ei, se vor mai petrece alte întâmpl?ri ca aceasta, îmi voi aminti de tine ca de uitarea dragostei înseÈ™i. M? voi gândi la povestea asta ca la oroarea uit?rii. O È™tiu deja - Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima dragostea mea.

à force de voir tant de films, tant de gens s'aimer, tant de départs, tant d'enlacements, tant d'embrassements définitifs, tant de solutions, tant et tant, tant de prédestinations, tant de délaissements cruels, certes, mais inévitables, fatals, déjà ce que Suzanne aurait voulu c'était quitter la mère.

Je ne vous aime plus. C'est vous qui m'aimez. Vous ne le savez pas. Nous