Quotes About Longing

No, while most people have been at their unhappiest when in love, it is nevertheless the state the human being yearns for above all.

As the stag pants after the waterbrooks, So pants my mind after you, O gods! My mind thirsts for gods! for living gods! When shall I come face to face with gods? —Psalm 42

even a poisoned, desolate childhood can be missed.

Siente él lo mismo que ella, un torbellino persistente que le aporrea el corazón? Con todo lo que ha perdido, lo único que sabe ahora es que a él no puede perderlo...en la vida.

And I knew that I loved him with more than a nod. I loved him with a rush of tenderness, a lion's share. (Is that ever enough?) I wanted to survive. I had to. I never called.

She let him go once. Every day demands that she release him over and over again. She clenches her fists and thinks, Will he find me again? And she tells herself, No. Don't want this. Let him go.

When boys grow into men, their boyishness is still apparent each time they abandon themselves a little. I stretch against them sometimes--lovesickness, it is the same ache as homesickness for me--and I marvel. The length of their bodies, it's where I find my house, my old street, Ashbury Park and all of its yowling--men, they walk around carrying my country, my motherland, and they don't even know. They don't have the tiniest idea.

You are my dream, Cynthia.

Their faces were inches apart now, and he traced her lips with one finger, lightly, lightly, then placed his lips there as if he'd drawn them into being.

Her mind was obsessively playing and replaying his words of five minutes ago. And finally she could contain them no longer. 'Was she pretty?' she mimicked the vicar's creaky tones. 'Very,' she answered, in a very good imitation of the viscount's own baritone. Kit snorted a laugh. But really, Kit had waxed almost lyrical about Caroline Allston--- Caro, no doubt. Susannah wondered of Caro was carved on the viscount's heart the way it was on the oak, scarred and thick with age.

I couldn't see it because you are my heart, damn you! And how can I see my own heart if it's beating in my own chest?

She knew again the delicious little frisson of fear that came with walking the edge of something she knew better than to cross. She had forgotten what this was like. How a man could heighten every moment, remind you of the point of possessing sight and smell, let alone skin and nerve endings and a heart. That a man could so easily make your heart sing like a bloody lark or plummet like a stone.

eyes fixed on her as though she were the first sign of land after months at sea.

she echoed with longing, like struck crystal.

Still, there was something he'd wanted to know for some time now, and he found he couldn't deny himself this particular opportunity. Very gently, almost stealthily, he leaned forward and rested the backs of his fingers against Susannah's cheek. He regretted it instantly. For her skin was every bit as soft as he'd dreamed.

She turned to him as though he were the sun and she a sunflower.

And she reached out with trembling fingers and touched one of the roses. It was, surprisingly... unconscionably soft. A message was sent along with it, Miss Genevieve. Harriet handed over the sheet of folded foolscap, closed with a blob of wax. No seal was pressed into it. Genevieve slid her finger beneath it to break the seal. 'My esteemed Venus- These reminded me of you. In my dreams, your lips are just this soft. - Your devoted servant, Mars

But you'd sell your soul for it, wouldn't you? For one day of feeling beautiful.

But she would never forget Brodick... or the spontaneous kiss he'd given her that had meant nothing to him and everything to her.

She was the love of his life. "Hell.

Come to me Elizabeth. Let me make you mine...

She said she didn't want rice. She didn't want anything anymore. Not a thing. But every once in a while she got a faraway look in her eyes and he knew she was thinking of some other place. A better place. Just once, she told him, I'd like to look out the window and see the sea.

The night of his arrest, he asked me to go get him a glass of water. We'd just gone to bed and I was so tired. I was exhausted. So I told him to go get it himself. 'Next time I will,' he said, and then he rolled over and went right to sleep. Later, as they were taking him away, all I could think was, 'Now he'll always be thirsty.' Even now, in my dreams, he's still searching for water.

Every few days the letters arrived, tattered and torn, from Lordsburg, New Mexico. Sometimes entire sentences had been cut out with a razor blade by the censors and the letters did not make any sense. Sometimes they arrived in one piece, but with half of the words blacked out. Always, they were signed, From Papa, With Love.