Quotes About Longing

But to see him again. To somehow free myself of the past completely.

My life came to an end the day I left you. I have lived in hell since then. Were those the feelings of a man who did not know what deep emotion was?

He wanted her. He did not say so, but the evidence was there for her, and it was indisputable. He wanted her. And she wanted him, with an ache that drugged her mind again. It had been so long. So very long. And it had never been exciting. Never anything but briefly and mildly pleasurable. But she ached to be possessed again, to feel her femininity affirmed again. And with him. With him it would be good. Very good.

Could she ever have imagined in those few golden months that one day they would be in a room together, separated as if by a thousand miles?

He had spent almost two years hearing a baby cry in his nightmares while he found it impossible to reach her.

It would be a challenge worth undertaking . . . to rid your face of that look of longing . . . and to replace it with a look of—something else.

But she did not want to break away. This moment was the whole of life. Tomorrow he would be gone.

And he must have felt her desire. And her surrender. He might have made her his.

She wants him to stay. She wants to be persuaded.

For the rest of her life she would miss him and love him. But for this moment she was here in his arms and nothing else mattered. If he were a murderer and a traitor, it would not matter at the moment. Now was all that was important.

She could not bear the thought of missing a single minute this evening in which she might be either looking at him or at least feeling his presence.

She felt no uncontrollable physical passion. Only something far, far worse. Only a deep feeling of affection. Only a craving to get behind his mask—because he assuredly did wear one, however much he denied doing so. Only a longing to know the man as he was and to find that after all he was likable and lovable. Only a need to deny reality and find her fantasy lover again.

Being with them had always filled him with a yearning for a similar sort of love. He had tried to find it, but he had never come close.

It's not enough. There has to be something else. And there is nothing else between you and me.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was beyond him that had made his love of her such a lasting, painful thing.

I want to marry again . . . Eventually. To someone I can love with my whole being. To someone who will make the universe explode around me.

I still miss him. There is a loneliness and an emptiness where he was.

There is no such thing as the love you are looking for. It is only in your dreams. If that is so . . . then I think I would prefer my dreams to your reality, Jack.

She was engulfed by mingled panic and indecision, and by a terrible depression. She would never see him again. He would come riding out of the stable in a moment and disappear down the driveway, and she would never see him again. Ever.

But if he let himself think too deeply, he could still dream of finding someone like her.

I could not possibly want anything more.

But in the meantime, he said, there is the loneliness and the emptiness to be dealt with. His lips touched hers again, but she drew back. Do you mean mine or your own? she asked.

Ah, Gerard, Gerard , she found herself thinking. Why could you not have remained simply the golden boy of my memories?

I fell in love with you when I saw you that summer, he said. I adored you for years afterward. You were so lovely, so pure, so totally unattainable.