Quotes About Longing

It's not pleasant to die on the cross, it's much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in the dark.

I was lonely all right. I was lonely for that big ass standing beside me.

Le accettavo per quelle che erano, e l'amore veniva di rado e a fatica. Quando veniva, di solito, era per le ragioni sbagliate. Ci si stancava semplicemente di trattenere l'amore e lo si lasciava andare perchè aveva bisogno di andare da qualche parte. Era allora, di solito, che cominciavano i guai.

eu só quero que o Sol me queime mais e mais de tal modo que ele suba ao céu às seis da manhã e permaneça por lá até depois da meia-noite

There is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space. And even during the best moments and the greatest times we will know it We will know it more that ever. There is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that place.

ama genellikle, o en yoÄŸun ve tutkulu anlarda, bir kez daha sinema salonunda etraf?ndaki çiftler kumrular gibi f?s?lda??rken elindeki patlam?? m?s?r torbas?yla bir ba??na oturan yaln?z adam olmay? arzulard?m.

nefret ediyorlar senden , dedi Alman Feminist Hareketi'nin üyeleri bunlar... orada durup bakt?m onlara, harikuladeydiler ve ba??r?yorlard?, seviyordum hepsini, güldüm onlara, el sallad?m, öpücükler uçurdum. ... otel odas?na döndüÄŸümüzde dostlar?mla ÅŸarap ÅŸiÅŸelerini açarken özledim onlar?, gecenin o öfkeli, ?slak, tutkulu kad?nlar?n?.

Marilyn Monroe had an incredible sweetness that touched us and a gentle soul that blazed. Now that she's gone, we're still reaching for the glow - willing to grab what light we can.

Regrets are idle; yet history is one long regret. Everything might have turned out so differently!

There was a redemption of some kind, he believed, in such complete fulfillment of a desire so long deferred.

When all else is lost and gone forever, there is yearning. Only desire trumps time.

When Ada disappeared into the trees, it was like a part of the richness of the world had gone with her. He had been alone in the world and empty for so long. But she filled him full, and so he believed everything that had been taken out of him might have been for a purpose. To clear space for something better.

But God in his infinite wisdome had apparently thought it was an entertaining idea for us to always be wanting to get up in one another.

We all reach a point where we would like to draw a line across time and declare everything on the far side null. Shed our past life like a pair of wet and muddy trousers, just roll their heavy clinging fabric down our legs and step away. We also reach a point where we would give the rest of our withering days for the month of July in our seventeenth year. But no thread of Ariadne exists to lead us back there.

The flame of urgent coupling burned hottest against the woman, no matter how romantic and high and heartsick the anguish of the man might be pitched in retrospect.

Ah, my brother, you cannot comprehend the pain of parting from her. No, I can't. I would die for the least hair of her royal head, God bless it! but I could live very well from now till Doomsday without ever setting eyes on the said head.

Why should we long for the next world, before we are fit even for this one?

I let the happy times slip through my fingers and gripped on to the sad times as if they were my heart's desire

I feel ill with emotional indigestion: I don't think I've ever felt for Mo the kind of raw, priapic lust I feel for Ramona, but Ramona is a poisonous bloom—off-limits if I value my life.

I've learned that life is never what you expect it will be. Just as you come to the fringes of happiness, touching it, feeling it, tasting it—and desperately hoping for the rest of it—it's jerked away." "You have your art." "Yes, but that's a compulsion, not happiness. I paint because I must. I love because I want to be loved in return. Wanted to be.

I have left a part of me wherever I have lain my head, including my youth. What remains will be satisfied to go home.

She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd   The rein with dainty finger-tips,   A man had given all other bliss,   And all his worldly worth for this,   To waste his whole heart in one kiss   Upon her perfect lips.

There is an otherness inside us We never touch, no matter how far down our hands reach. It is the past, with its good looks and Anytime, Anywhere ... Our prayers go out to it, our arms go out to it Year after year, But who can ever remember enough?

The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.