Quotes About Longing

It is probably her son she misses, or the father. Or our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

They sounded a lot like me and my old girlfriend Loretta, but I swore to myself that I would stop thinking about her ass, even though every Cleopatra-looking Latina in the city made me stop and wish she would come back to me.

You have dreams where she's talking to you like in the old days- in that sweet Spanish of the Cibao, no sign of rage, of disappointment. And then you wake up.

our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

Stared at the toothpick-thin blackgirl who worked at the Friendly's, whom he was in love with but with whom he would never speak.

I dream about oblivion like other people dream of good sex...

He cried often for his love of some girl or another. Cried in the bathroom, where nobody could hear him.

You had an elaborate system that you thought would keep us out of bed: you sat on the other side of the room, you didn't let me crack your knuckles, you never stayed more than fifteen minutes. It never really worked, did it?

He wrote that he couldn't believe he'd had to wait for this so goddamn long. (Ybón was the one who suggested calling the wait something else. Yeah, like what? Maybe, she said, you could call it life.)

We went back to her place on Handy and before I could really put a hurt on her she stopped everything, dragged me up from her toto by my ears. Why is this the face I can't seem to forget, even now, after all these years? Tired from working, swollen from lack of sleep, a crazy mixture of ferocity and vulnerability that was and shall ever be Lola.

What he used to feel for those girls he'd never really known was nothing compared to the amor he was carrying in his heart for Ana. It had the density of a dwarf-motherfucking-star and at times he was a hundred percent sure it would drive him mad. The only thing that came close was how he felt about books; only the combined love he had for everything he'd read and everything he hoped to write came even close.

And Indian Benny, a quiet, meticulous waiter who had the sad airs of a man long accustomed to the spectacular demolition of dreams.

Sometimes I could grab her and pull her back on the couch, and we´d stay there a long time, me waiting for her to fall in love with me, her waiting for whatever, but other times she´d be serious.

Or our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

And if I could have I would have broken the entire length of my life across her face

He said hi to her almost every day, all upbeat and faux-happy, and she said hi back, indifferently, but that was it. He didn't imagine that she remembered their kissing—but of course he could not forget.

The sadness you feel is not your own. It's his sadness you feel in your heart, Amy, for missing you.

I could have held his hand.

There was so much feeling in the world. So much sadness. So much longing. So much joy. Everything had a soul. The petals of flowers. The mice of the field. The clouds and rain and the bare limbs of trees. All

I should think it a wonderful thing to be missed, the way that I miss him.

A thousand recollected lives were passing through her, a thousand thousand stories—of love and work, of parents and children, of duty and joy and grief. Beds slept in and meals eaten, and the bliss and pain of the body, and a view of summer leaves from a window on a morning it had rained; the nights of loneliness and the nights of love, the soul in its body's keeping always longing to be known. She

This isn't a question of odds. Of all the men in the world, that woman hose you. If she's still out there, she's waiting for you. Staying alive any way she can until you find her.

An unanticipated longing washed over him; how he wished his father were here. For weeks he had kept this feeling at bay. Holding his son in his arms, he could no longer. Tears poured from his eyes.

The world is not my home, (she sang in her silky voice) for I'm just passing through. The treasures are laid up somewhere, high beyond the blue. The angels beckon me from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.