Quotes About Longing

The saddest thing about love, Joe, is that not only the love cannot last forever, but even the heartbreak is soon forgotten.

And I saw surfing that day - by Leslie Wong, among others - that made my chest hurt: long moments of grace under pressure that felt etched deep in my being: what I wanted, somehow, more than anything else. That night, while my family slept, I lay awake on the bamboo-framed couch, heart pounding with residual adrenaline, listening restlessly to the rain.

Songs about death and lost love and rambling down the line because sometimes down the line was the only place left.

She suddenly heard a wave of sound, cicadas and whippoorwills and crickets that just abruptly assailed her, and she wondered if they'd just begun or if they had already been calling and all she'd heard was the banjo music, ancient and myth-laden and somehow enticing, like sound seeping through the cracks of a place you couldn't get to anymore

Even when he'd arrived he'd had restless eyes, eyes that were always looking about as if he might notice some place he'd rather be and head out for it immediately.

Before she'd shared his bed, life had been pointless, but now it had become unbearable. She had appeared from nowhere and returned to it, but she'd taken over his life, left with a lien on his body, a mortgage on his soul.

The more the soul loves the word, the more craving it has after it.

Every day he thought would last forever, and the night forever, and the dawn drag eternally another long and empty day to light forever; yet they sped away, the day, the night...

I dreamed my lips would drift down your back like a skiff on a river. I'd follow a vein with the point of my finger, hold your bare feet in my naked hands.

For a while, every day, even though the snow was piled and the sky dead and the winter wind was blowing, I watched for my aunt to come again and bring me a book like my ma'd said she would. She never came.

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

I would like to spend the whole of my life traveling, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend at home.

She gazed at me, and in her eyes I found what it was I'd been searching for all along, searching for without understanding. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, heart of my heart.

The daytime. The nighttime. Eating. Just lying here thinking. Nothing feels right. I keep waiting for her to come up the stairs and poke her head into our room and, you know, goof around with us." "I know what you mean," I said. "What do we do, Frank?" "I think we just keep going on. We keep doing what we always do and someday it'll feel right again." "Will it? Really?" "Yeah, I think so.

How do you say goodbye when your heart is telling you how horribly wrong that would be? How do you let go when everything inside you is screaming to hold on?

Waiting for the warm affection of another human heart. Waiting to know the reason he has always felt like a soul alone in the universe. But this night, his waiting

NOTHING IS EVER everything, but the loss of a true love feels that way.

Meloux had never seen his own son. Never carried him on his shoulders or held him when he cried. Never felt the small boy's breath, warm and sweet smelling, break against his face. Never knew the pleasures of being for his son the slayer of monsters imagined in the night.

both remembered how it all started, and even now, in the middle of my middle age, when I think of that shining young girl, I still feel a little thrill of first love, still there, still burning like a pilot light.

The craving became almost unbearable, and he felt his heart break with the wanting.

All she felt was mind-numbing exhaustion, and a desperate yearning for the sweet forgetfulness of sleep.

All people desire what they believe will make them happy. If a person is not full of desire for God, we can only conclude that he is engaged with another happiness.

Back o'er the deep I turn my longing eyes, And chide the wayward passions that rebel: Yet boots it not to think, or to complain, Musing sad ditties to the reckless main. To dreams like these, adieu! the pealing bell Speaks of the hour that stays not--and the day To life's sad turmoil calls my heart away.

Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?