Quotes About Longing

It is hard to swerve Ocean and Sky from their deepest desires.

I wasn't frightened of him physically, but the way he looked at me made me feel insubstantial, as if I were merely a veil between him and the woman he had desired for nearly thirty years.

I wanted to feel his strength; I wanted to feel him. I didn't care how anymore. I just wanted him to touch me.

I have a long and inglorious history of wanting what hurts me.

The first time he had seen her, the first time he had looked into her eyes, he had thought he saw his Stag of Candles reflected there. He had been trying to find that reflection again ever since, but all he ever saw was himself.

I dreamed about her long, snaky body and about her deep, drawling voice. The voice was the worst. I'd wake up at the ninth or tenth hour of the night, my heart banging in my chest, and I'd lie there holding my breath in case she called my name again.

I saw his smile, and I wanted, with the sudden pitiless clarity of a lightning bolt, to drag him away-out of the engine's maw, of the labyrith's heart, out of the cold and sleepless dark beneath Summerdown.

wanted them to be. If she

I already told you, you're not my type." "I thought you didn't have a type." "I probably shouldn't. Given how long it is since I had sex, my type should just be anyone with a penis and pulse, right?

I don't want a martyr in my bed," he drawled lightly, "so cease pretending that you don't burn for me the way I burn for you.

We all want things in life we can't have. Happens all the time. Jobs we don't get. Houses we don't live in. Health issues we sure as hell don't want. People we love who don't love us back. Not feeling the way someone wants you to feel doesn't make you a bad person.

I see it as my job to mourn him until the day I die.

She hears the word bell, or orchard, or swallow, and she experiences a strange surprise, like the feel of a coin in the soil. These words make her wistful; they overwhelm her with longing. Not for her orchard, nor the bell in her church, nor the swallows that nest in the eaves of her house. For something else altogether, something she would have forgotten completely. She wonders: Why should these words pierce me, if they are not the remains of a currency I once knew how to spend?

If you were M. Pujol, Madeleine says, I would reach out my hand to you. Like this. If you were M. Pujol, Adrien says, I would press my mouth against your pulse. Like this. If you were he, she says, I would cup your chin in my fingers. If you were he, he says, I would take those fingers into my mouth. Then my mouth would envy my fingers, she says. Then your mouth must usurp your fingers, he says. And then, she says, I would do this.

She was lost. Torn between what to do. I saw it clearly in her eyes as she stared at me. I wanted to tell her to let go and be with me even if it was just one night but I couldn't. One night wasn't enough.

Sitting next to him for such a long time made me want to ravish him on the beach where grains of sand would coat our bodies.' The Romantic featured in Summer Romances

Coeur qui soupire n'a pas ce qu'il desire. The heart that sighs does not have what it desires.

Strephon kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me, And never kissed at all. Strephon's kiss was lost in jest, Robin's lost in play, But the kiss in Colin's eyes Haunts me night and day.

now i begin to feel a longing so great, so sharp, i fear it will never be assuaged. i think it will mount, and mount, and make me mad, or kill me.

Oh, but this,' I think I say, 'is perfect! This is all I have longed for! What are you gazing at? Do you suppose a girl is sitting here? That girl is lost! She has been drowned! She is lying, fathoms deep. Do you think she has arms and legs, with flesh and cloth upon them? Do you think she has hair? She has only bones, stripped white! She is as white as a page of paper! She is a book, from which the words have peeled and drifted--

But the more I think it, the more I want her, the more my desire rises and swells.

For I could not want her now, more than I could a lover. But I could not want a lover, more than I want freedom.

I felt that thread that had come between us, tugging, tugging at my heart—so hard, it hurt me.

My happiness is nothing to him," she said. "Only his books! He has made me like a book. I am not meant to be taken, and touched, and liked. I am meant to keep here, in dim light, forever!