Quotes About Longing

It is the habit of mankind to entrust to careless hope what they long for, and to use sovereign reason to thrust aside what they do not desire

Eliza has the sky in her eyes and I've always wanted to touch the goddamn sky.

One of the things that we were trying to do with this show was the complexities of relationships and love. There is both passion and longing and a bittersweet quality to it that is a part of life.

Stick Boy liked Match Girl, he liked her a lot. He liked her cute figure, he thought she was hot.

But then on meeting you, I felt I should be with you always.

They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love, longing--these were intangibles, but the intangibles had their own mass and specific gravity, they had tangible weight. They carried shameful memories. They carried the common secret of cowardice.... Men killed, and died, because they were embarrassed not to.

Linda was nine then, as I was, but we were in love...it had all the shadings and complexities of mature adult love and maybe more, because there were not yet words for it, and because it was not yet fixed to comparisons or chronologies or the ways by which adults measure such things...I just loved her. Even then, at nine years old, I wanted to live inside her body. I wanted to melt into her bones -- that kind of love.

Even then, at nine years old, I wanted to live inside her body. I wanted to melt into her bones - THAT kind of love.

First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rusack. In the late afternoon, after a day's march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hour of light pretending.

I drank some chocolate milk and then lay down on the sofa in my "living" room, not really sad, just floating; trying to imagine what it was to be dead. Nothing much came to me. I remember closing my eyes and whispering her name, trying to make her come back. As we stared at each other, neither of us moving, I felt some...thing go shut in my heart while something else swung open

Down inside, of course, I wasn't sure, and yet I had to see her one more time. What I needed, I suppose, was some sort of final confirmation, something to carry with me when she was gone.

They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love, longing—these were intangibles, but the intangibles had their own mass and specific gravity, they had tangible weight.

Bir ÅŸeyi ta??mak, s?rtlamak demekti; ÜsteÄŸmen Jimmy Cross'un Martha'ya olan aÅŸk?n? tepeler ve batakl?klar boyunca s?rtlamas? gibi. GeçiÅŸsiz kullan?ld???nda yürümek anlam?na gelirdi, fakat bunun ötesinde yükler ima ederdi.

Martha'n?n akci?erlerinde uyumak, onun kan?n? solumak ve avutulmak istiyordu.

They wanted happiness without knowing what it was, or where to look, which made them want it all the more.

Nostalgia—that's the basic sickness, and I never heard of a doctor who can cure it.

We'll find new stuff to want.

Mais tu as raison. Dès que j'aurai un vaisseau capable de prendre le large, je trouverai, je sauverai et - s'il en est encore temps - j'épouserai la seule femme qui a, pour moi, à la fois un corps et un visage, et avec qui je n'ai pas besoin de renoncer aux miens.

I'd be happy just to go back to about 1990," said Scott quietly. "The way we all were then.

Sometimes I miss you the way someone drowning remembers the air.

Some days I can go nearly an hour without thinking of the taste of your mouth.

And you can't help but worry for them, love them, want for them - those who go on down the close, foetid galleries of time ad space without you.

It's sadness coming on like the old days, the vast seamless hopeless weight of sadness looking for a place to rest.

My whole life is out here-the whole of my life...I'd come here naked, as a boy-straight from that river out there-throw my clothes on the floor and climb into that loft and lie there dreaming in the hay...All those summer days-scouring the banks of the Avon for smooth, round stones-scaring up ducks and foxes-kingfishers-swallows...somebody's dog...Oh, God-I want it back. Throwing stones that never reached the other shore. And the games-the games-the games, and all my friends...