Quotes About Longing

This time the fluttery feeling in my stomach was more intense. It made the inside of my thighs tingle and my breathing deepen.

Nothing has ever been so painful or delicious as being so close to him and being unable to do anything about it: like eating ice cream so fast on a hot day you get a splitting headache.

I've never been in love. I will die without knowing what it feels like to need to see one person's face when you go to sleep at night, to crave seeing it when you wake up. I wish I knew.

I want you here. I don't care if it's a hundred degrees and every blade of grass dies. Without you, none of that matters to me.

If somebody never gets enough of you, they will always want more

He thought of her often, and he missed the companionship they'd once shared and the friendship that had been the bedrock of their marriage at its best.

Dreams would always end with you, and then mornings would steal you away with a cruelty that haunted my days.

Diana felt she was beginning to understand why, in all those novels she read, the headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.

And of course she understood now why her body wanted to run whenever he appeared. It was a correct instinct, for there was nothing to be got from this but sadness.

The heart has a heart of its own.

If there's a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you love who's trapped underground, I don't know it.

I fly through memory to find a newborn love.

I could take back those moments that snatched you away from me or maybe just wipe away those ten minutes when you came to me for the first time and I looked into your eyes to realise what love is.

I was even a little glad that if it wasn't going to be me she wanted, it was going to be someone who really deserved her.

My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.

So often, the discarded love of youth is desperately yearned for in maturity.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

So this had been all I wanted, a boy who understood how I felt. Now, though, I sometimes wished for more.

I was lonelier than I should be, for a woman in love, or half in love.

I'm a century old, an impossible age, and my brain has no anchor in the present. Instead it drifts, nearly always to the same shore. Today, as most days, it is 1962. The year I discovered love.

She had rarely been near Henry since then, and the sight of him now was like a concentrated dose.

I saw you, and I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted to know you in a way no one else did. I wanted you, all of you.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

She hated him and loved him, longed for him and loathed him, and cursed herself for feeling anything at all