Quotes About Longing

She simply cannot let go of love- and who can blame that? Is it not the hardest thing in the world to relinquish, once you have it?

The only thing worse than constantly seeing what you can't have is constantly seeing what you must have.

It is very hard, I know, when you're young, to remember that there is such a thing as the rest of your life.

Suddenly she was ravenous—but not for soup or shrimp risotto or anything else on the overpriced menu. She was hungry for...things. Acts. Human contact.

People I had never seen before flocked in, their faces showing a longing you never saw for cake. People's eyes lit up for a cupcake, cake seemed to signal celebration. But their eyes got filmy, watery, misty when we handed them a slice of pie. Pie was memory. Nostalgia. Pie made people recall simpler, maybe happier times.

Te willen hebben, een huis in de duinen. Te willen hebben, verzamelde werken. Te willen hebben, één blauwe veer. Te willen hebben, een zinvol bestaan. Te willen hebben, gehad.

When she wasn't being stiff-necked, she was the friend he most wanted to talk to, who he couldn't wait to see each day. She came into his mind with the first ray of consciousness at daybreak. He nodded off, smiling over her with his last, heavy-eyed blink before sleep. Sweet Win. Funny Win. Clever Win. Frightened, brave, careful, meticulous Winnie, trying to avoid the bite of the world by pretending it didn't have teeth.

She shook her head, glued now to the sight. He felt exhilarated, seeing her there, her expression amused, absorbed. Oh, he wanted to charm her. He wanted to woo her, make her stay. He just wasn't sure how to do it. …Mick knew Win wasn't listening as he told her about the dog; he was barely listening to himself. He wanted to say, Don't go. Just stay. Stay and keep looking at me like that. He rattled on instead.

Missing you?" she giggled incredulously. "I could cheerfully murder you." "I'd come back to haunt you," he threatened with a grin. "And that," she said, "is the only reason why I haven't tried.

I've hurt you terribly my love, and I'll hunt you again during the next fifty years. And you are going to hurt me, Ian-never I hope as much as you are hurting me now. But if that's the way it has to be, then I'll endure it, because the only alternative is to live without you, and that is no life at all. And the difference is that I know it, and you don't... not yet...

Az unalom – írja Tolsztoj – a vágy utáni vágy." A vágynak ez a hiánya éppúgy a helyéhez szögezi az embert, mint bármilyen szorongás. Akármennyire is unalmas és fájdalmas a kényelmi zónánk, ha végignézünk a lélektani láthatáron, és semmi nem hívogat, egy helyben maradunk.

I love you, God help me. Love you, lust for you, and snatch with shameful eagerness at any crumb you deign to drop in front of me.

Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.

Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.

I loved him like a fever. Then he left. He kicked through love like it was dust and he kept on walking.

I knew that the deepest of tragedies was simple: to love, and not to be loved in return.

I always wanted a father. Any kind. A strict one, a funny one, one who bought me pink dresses, one who wished I was a boy. One who traveled, one who never got up out of his Morris chair. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. I wanted shaving cream in the sink and whistling on the stairs. I wanted pants hung by their cuffs from a dresser drawer. I wanted change jingling in a pocket and the sound of ice cracking in a cocktail glass at five thirty. I wanted to hear my mother laugh behind a closed door.

I breathed in and out, perfume and smoke, perfume and smoke, and we lay like that for a long time, until I heard the seagulls crying, sadder than a funeral, and I knew it was almost morning.

Just one dance. Just one. That's all I wanted. I know now how you can take one step and you can't stop yourself from taking another. I know now what it means to want. I know it can get you to a place where there's no way out. I know now that there's no such thing as just one. But I didn't know it then.

In the silence of night I have often wished for just a few words of love from one man, rather than the applause of thousands of people.

California is full of homesick people.

It is a pity that those whose good graces we long for are always dead.

Both had lost parents at an early age, and while Albert did not have a rift with his father as Victoria did with her mother, both ached for an idyllic domesticity they had dreamed of as children.

For a flicker of a moment our gazes held, sweet and tormented.