Quotes About Longing

Faith is certainly not theology to me. Church is just one of the places I look for answers to the only real question I have: Why do we long for meaning? For

The cigarettes you light one after another won't help you forget her.

Dear soulmate, I don't know who you are, where you live, or what you look like. But I pray for you every nite and I ask God to point you in my direction.

We're all waiting for something.

I am not waiting for a prince on a white horse. I am waiting for you... So why don't you kiss me?

When I drive 'home' and leave you, it makes me feel like I'm driving to nowhere - to nothing - to a place that doesn't make me feel.

I think when I'm in love, I really am very good with calling, little faxes, and visiting and I really put a lot of effort into it. I'm really not the one that's not available because of work and I'm very sad when I actually leave.

I don't know what it is, but I ache for it each day. It's as though I have eyes, but there are colors I cannot see. As though I have ears, but there's a range of notes I cannot hear.

I can't think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there's no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.

I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones. Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.

I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.

If you love, he wrote, or wish to love, do not dream. from "In Memory of the Future

The Poem" It was like getting a love letter from a tree Eyes closed forever to find you– There is a life which if I could have it I would have chosen for myself from the beginning

Any place where their thoughts are not allowed to stray is guarded by his voices steering them back to the permitted pastures. Any sadness or longing is immediately burned from the mind by the steady flame of his teachings in his voice. Sadness, depression, longings are luxuries. How can any sane mind be sad at the prospect of the kingdom of heaven, unless the sadness is merely impatience?

You know, I think everybody longs to be loved, and longs to know that he or she is lovable. And consequently, the greatest thing we can do is to help somebody know that they are loved and capable of loving.

Did I really want or need to know? What difference would it make if he were dead or alive, since dead or alive I should never see him again? But could I be certain? Was it completely and utterly out of the question for the door to open and for him to walk in? And wasn't I even now listening for his footstep?

I'm a romantic, and we romantics are more sensitive to the way people feel. We love more, and we hurt more. When we're hurt, we hurt for a long time.

Girl, when he gives you kisses twain, use one, and let the other stay; And hoard it, for moons die, red fades, and you may need a kiss—some day.

It's like we're born with a memory of something we've never seen. We yearn to return to a place we've never been. We mourn that loss and seek it every day, no matter what our religion, or none.

What were we doing here? Traveling hundreds or thousands of light-years, to break our hearts?

As a species, we have become a population of refugees, longing for homes we remember only faintly, as we remember dreams.

how can he love me then not? He went,he ran. And I cannot bring him back. Yet I left the door metaphorically wide open, hoping he'd come back and bang on it proclaiming, "I want to be here with you. Always." Soon I'm going to have to shutit. For my safety and my sanity. Let go. I don't want to. Won't letting go be just that - letting go? Giving up? Admitting failure? Admitting that it is really, truly over?

I was clinging to all that had been and, in an ideal world, all that we had hoped for. He, he wanted out.

It's just the world seems a very spacious place without him.