Quotes About Longing

I was longing, instead, for the feelings I'd had when I first met him, wishing I could love with that sweetly giddy, self-forgetting exhilaration just once more in my life and knowing, somehow, that I wouldn't. I was, I think, longing for my younger self, full of optimism and joy and impatient for life, for adventure, for risk.

He said, Were he only like his sister—what a difference that would make! For there never was such a sweet and gentle lady! I hear her footsteps, as she goes about the world. I hear the swish-swish-swish of her silken gown and the jingle-jangle of the silver chain about her neck. Her smile is full of comfort and her eyes are kind and happy! How I long to see her! Who, sir? asked Paramore, puzzled. Why, his sister, John. His sister.

It seemed off that anyone could live behind such a high hedge of thorns, and he began to think it would be no great surprize to discover that Mr. Wyvern had been asleep for a hundred years or so. 'Well, I shall not mind that so much,' he thought, 'so long as I am not expected to kiss him.

Nothing could be more fearful than losing one's freedom. To be confined. Never to see a golden cloudburst or rivers of sunlight on dark flowers. never to walk your own cultivated furrows. And the memory dangled over his heart like the sword of Damocles.

At long last he was her's

When he returned to the

Nineteen and living a life not his own, he was sure enough of his worth to put his name to his work and let it stand for him. Did not even have a wife yet, according to Queen, so it was not love that set him to cutting the pine, but a trust and a longing.

It isn't that nothing is left. It is that what remains is such an old sad ghost of the thing that used to be, and he can't bear lying down with the vestiges.

You think he belonged to the type who can't live with themselves any more." "What a good description! Yes. The kind who want something badly, and then discover that the price they have paid for it is too high.

He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.

Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, "I still dream about you." "I have nightmares about you." I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.

It was nearly five before Jake walked in. He was sunburnt, wet, and smelled faintly of fish. Sexy as hell. Don't ask me to explain.

I felt the warm brush of his fingers pushing the key into mine all the way to my heart. I focused on the key because if I looked up, I'd see what he was feeling. Worse, he'd see what I was feeling -- in a minute what I was feeling was going to be spilling out of me, and it didn't make any sense. It had been over long ago; we had just finally got around to saying good-bye, that was all.

I want that. I don't think a week goes by I don't dream about it. The way it feels to move inside you. The way your body grabs on like tight velvet. The sounds you make, like having me inside you is the best thing that ever happened to you.

Why did we all crave love so badly when half the time it left us annihilated?

He smelled familiar. Not the dèjà vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow - or wanting back something you should never have given away.

Last night they hadn't even fucked. What the hell was the point of protective custody if you weren't at least going to get to have sex with your protector?

Passionate kisses, the intoxicating exchange of breath and saliva - and something more intimate - something there was no real name for, like a spark catching between us and taking light. How had I forgotten this? How had I been satisfied with anything else? Guy...Mel...it was like choosing celluloid kisses over the real thing. The real thing was raw and powerful and dangerous...but it was the real thing. Had I really believed I could make do with safe substitutes?

Will stared at him with utter disbelief. "Am I really supposed to answer that? What do you think I want? I want you." He added bitterly, "Who wouldn't want you? Seeing you're so sweet-tempered and understanding.

He won't feel a fraction of what I do for you. You won't change his life. And you will always wonder about what could have been, always feel that funny little ache right here." He puts his hand over your heart.

He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like... the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.

Jake sapeva di bourbon e dolore. Aprii la bocca alla sua lingua, il suo ruvido velluto che spingeva contro il mio, reclamandomi come io stavo reclamando lui. Quel torrido pomeriggio – le scuri di legno che sbattevano contro il muro, il ronzio delle api fuori dalla finestra, il rumore lontano di un aereo che viaggiava verso luoghi sconosciuti – era solo un altro anello della catena.

How the hell could you be homesick for a place that had never been home?

He was glad to have it that way. He didn't need Robert's power under him and harnessed, he wanted it inside, filling him, warming him, ending the winter that had haunted him for so long.