Quotes About Longing

It doesn't take long to sum up the major theses of most popular music: he loves me; he left me; I need him; I needed him, but now I need his best friend. Rather limited scope.

Why was I holding on to something that would never be mine? But isn't that what people do?

My mind can take no hold on the present world, nor rest in it a moment, but my whole nature rushes onward with irresistible force towards a future and better state of being.

It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.

People go on marrying because they can't resist natural forces, although many of them may know perfectly well that they are possibly buying a month's pleasure with a life's discomfort.

All sins are attempts to fill voids.

But just as nature abhors a vacuum -- so does the human heart.

The fact is that man has no longing for any other nature but desires only to be perfect in his own.

Raise a million filters and the rain will not be clean, until the longing for it be refined in deep confession.

The more we exile ourselves from nature, the more we crave its miracle waters.

The perfect joys of heaven do not satisfy the cravings of nature.

That is human nature, that people come after you, willingly enough, provided only that you no longer love or want them.

For the true angler, fishing produces a deep,unspoken joy, born of longing for that which is quiet and peaceful, and fostered by an inbred love of communing with nature

It's in my nature to feel, 'I could be this! This could be mine!'

Ko kiti priplavajo v vaše srce, ga nikoli ve? ne zapustijo.

Rain, Aren't you my soul's joyful tearsonly longing for the sky to be happy?

There's a land—oh, it beckons and beckons, And I want to go back—and I will.

Only what is seen, appreciated, and loved will be missed in its absence which makes humans creatures of habit

Deep inside, we still have a longing to be reconnected with the nature that shaped our imagination

It is in the nature of man to want what he does not have. This modern concern for happiness seems a real testimony of its absence.

Most stories are not about peoplebut about life, an addiction like the rest of themthat destroys you even as you love it, but you love it anyway and can never get enough.

She left, never to return. I planted a tree and a seed each time I thought of her. I grew a small forest and a large garden and had no one to give the orchids to.

Like a tenacious ivy, your presence clings onto the drab wall of my existence. Cling harder onto me love, like a blood sucking bed-bug who is never satiated.

That's the trouble with loving a wild thing: You're always left watching the door.But you also get kind of used to it.