Quotes About Longing

Acho que as pessoas querem ler sobre as coisas que mais desejam e que experimentam menos.

I feel like there's something terrible and wonderful and amazing that's just beyond my grasp. I have dreams about it. I do dream, by the way. It hovers over me at odd moments. And then it's gone. I feel like I'm always on the brink of something that never arrives. I want to either have it or be free of it.

Please, God, send me something to adore.

What lives undimmed in Clarissa's mind more than three decades later is a kiss at dusk on a patch of dead grass, and a walk around the pond as mosquitoes droned in the darkening air. There is still that singular perfection, and it's perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more. Now she knows. That was the moment. There has been no other.

And yet, it gives Peter nothing. Not now. Not today. Not when he needs... more. More than this well-executed idea. More than the shark in the tank meant to frighten, more than the guy on the street meant to say something pithy about celebrity. More than this.

Maybe – let's not rule it out – this will be the song that cuts clean, the one that matters, the one that sheds standard-issue romance and reveals, under its old skin, a raw blood-red devotion deeper than comfort, a desire profounder than schoolboy satisfaction, a yearning cold and immaculate and unstoppable as snow.

Youth is the only sexy tragedy.

Tyler. His handsome, lion-eyed ravagement. His capacity for devotion. Which is so sexy. Why do so many gay men lack that? Why are they so distracted, so in love with the idea of more and more and then more, again?

One of the troubles with love is, you can't talk about it without feeling like you keep cueing old songs.

Prosím, Bože, seÅ¡li mi nÄ›co, co bych mohl zbož?ovat.

Heaven only knows why we love it so.

Not all people were meant to be lovers.

Aspettavamo, senza particolare urgenza, di vedere se qualcuno ci avrebbe chiesto un altro tipo d'amore, quello più terrificante e travolgente.

If I die tomorrow, Provincetown is where I'd want my ashes scattered. Who knows why we fall in love, with places or people, with objects or ideas? Thirty centuries of literature haven't begun to solve the mystery; nor have they in any way slaked our interest in it. Provincetown is a mysterious place, and those of us who love it tend to do so with a peculiar, inscrutable intensity.

He needs a looser association. He needs something that implies a man who wants the ice shard to remain in his chest, who's learned to love the sensation of being pierced.

Cassandra wanted the same night over and over again but she believed in some hidden way that if she had the same night enough times it would all crack open, and something better than love would be revealed. Something better than music.

Quisiera que siempre fuera así. +Siempre es sólo un momento.

Bastian struggled for air. His heart pounded, it was not big enough for so great a longing.

Nein, man spürt nichts. Es fehlt einem eben nur etwas. Und jeden Tag fehlt einem mehr, wenn man davon einmal befallen ist. Bald werden wir gar nicht mehr vorhanden sein.

Hay seres que sin saber bien por qué, se sienten sin raíces en este mundo. Lo que los demás llaman realidad les parece un espejismo, un sueño confuso y a menudo angustioso. Se sienten condenados a vivir en este mundo como si se tratara de un exilio en tierra hostil. Con nostalgia incurable añoran otra realidad que creen recordar como una patria lejana, sin poder formular nada concreto sobre ella.

Perhaps the home I am homesick for is still there, after all.

Family traditions are more than arguments with the dead, more than collections of family letters you try to decipher. A tradition is also a channel of memory through which fierce and unrequited longings surge, longings that define and shape a whole life.

It was always with her now, that sadness, like one of those rare orchids you saw clinging to jungle branches on TV, always blooming in her at unexpected moments, and even on the move, scuffing down the hall toward Doodle's room, the thought of evading it called it into being. Sadness. The word itself didn't do the feeling justice. What she felt was a more complicated alchemy of emotion, equal parts grief and loneliness and longing, with measures of resentment and self-pity drizzled in.

Germans longed to be near shit, but not in it. This, as it turns out, is an excellent description of their role in the current financial crisis.