Quotes About Longing

My bones hold a stillness, the far Fields melt my heart.

I felt sorry when I came to the last page. I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence.

I am in danger of wanting my personal absolute to be a demigod of a man, and as there aren't many around, I often unconsciously manufacture my own. and then, I retreat and revel in poetry and literature where the reward value is tangible and accepted. I really do not think deeply. really deeply. I want a romantic nonexistant hero.

I think I'm in love with missing you more than I'm in love with you.

They would grow old. They would forget me.

Something in me wants more. I can't rest.

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it.

There I went again, building p a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few posy nothings.

You felt no reality. Only a weariness, a longing for a shoulder to sleep on, a pair of arms to curl up in — and a lack of that now.

White Godiva, I unpeel -- Dead hands, dead stringencies.

I had hoped to make her strong and healthy, and now she may be too weak herself after this slow death, like my father's slow long death, to come to me. and I am here, futile, cut off from the ritual of family love and neighborhood and from giving strength and love to my dear brave grandmother's dying whom I loved above thought. and my mother will go, and there is the terror of having no parents, no older seasoned beings, to advise and love me in this world.

I need someone real, who will be right for me now, here, and soon. Until then I'm lost. I think I am mad at times.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

My dream was one day ordering a drink and finding out it tasted wonderful.

I craved him constantly, so deeply it was a physical ache

Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.

Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.

You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns-

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

I was thinking that if I'd had the sense to go on living in that old town I might just have met this prison guard in school and married him and had a parcel of kids now. It would be nice, living by the sea with piles of kids and pigs and chickens, wearing what my grandmother called wash dresses, and sitting about in some kitchen with bright linoleum and fat arms, drinking pots of coffee.

I spiral back to me, sitting here, swimming, drowning, sick with longing. I have too much conscience injected in me to break customs without disasterous effects; I can only lean enviously against the boundary and hate, hate, hate the boys who can dispel sexual hunger freely, without misgiving, and be whole, while I drag out from date to date in soggy desire, always unfulfilled. The whole thing sickens me.

You are a dream. I hope I never meet you.

And he walked off down the path with his jaunty, independent stride. And I stood there where he left me, tremulous with love and longing, weeping in the dark. That night it was hard to get to sleep.

If they substituted the word "Lust" for "Love" in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth. –