Quotes About Longing

There's already someone that I love very much. I just never knew quite how much until it was too late.

But I don't want you to have any respite from me.

Maggie lifted her head. Chase lowered his. Like the inevitable meeting of sea with shore, their mouths came together.

He was already fading. I knew that it wouldn't be long until he was just a vague image, however much I tried to cling onto his memory.

The longing for rain has become almost an obsession. We remember the gentle all-night rains that used to make a grateful music on the shingles close above our heads... But we waken to another day of wind and dust and hopes deferred, of attempts to use to the utmost every small resource, to care for the stock and poultry as well as we can with our scanty supplies, to keep our balance and to trust that upon some happier day our wage may even yet come in.

If we were teenagers, I could kiss you. But I'm on a platform behind a counter wearing a name tag and we're too old to be young.

But the most important thing I know is that I want the possibility of you more than the reality of [her].

If you don't start with crazy, crazy love, the kind of love that Van Morrison sings about, then you don't have a shot to go the distance. Love's a marathon, Danny, not a sprint.

It would be nice to have something alive to hold on to right now, something to love me, something with a beating heart that I can feel, something to be with me as I sit here, in hell, trying to figure it out.

I take my time walking up the stairs and onto the street. I want life to move slowly because I want to anticipate you with all my heart, greet you with all my heart, fuck you with all my heart and miss you with all my heart. I have to laugh because I sound like a greeting card but I deserve this, you, joy.

You miss me. And I miss you. It hurts, seeing you at that fire, giving your hands to the heat, the way I gave my hand to fire, only different. I imagine pushing you into the red abyss and jumping in after you, with you, so we can burn together, forever, a tree of life, light, sex.

the problem with books is that they end. They seduce you. They spread their legs to you and pull you inside. And you go deep and leave your possessions and your ties to the world at the door and you like it inside and you don't want for your possessions or your ties and then, the book evaporates.

Sometimes you love someone so much that you can't bear a taste or a text because only this kind of moment will do. Shared air. Stillness on a love seat.

This is like the end of The Corrections," I say and the problem with books is that they end. They seduce you. They spread their legs to you and pull you inside. And you go deep and leave your possessions and your ties to the world at the door and you like it inside and you don't want for your possessions or your ties and then, the book evaporates. You turn the page and there is nothing and we are both crying.

the problem with books is that they end. They seduce you. They spread their legs to you and pull you inside. And you go deep and leave your possessions and your ties to the world at the door and you like it inside and you don't want for your possessions or your ties and then, the book evaporates. You turn the page and there is nothing

I loved her and she did not love me.

know I should apologize and tell her that she's right, that I do wish Jon would see me, that it's eating me alive. But the thing about things that break your heart, it's hard to validate them by saying them out loud.

I try to help you move on, but you don't know why she hates you and it's all you want to talk about. Every. Fucking. Night. And it would be easier if these talks were happening on a park bench or your stoop or your sofa or your bed that I assembled but they're happening over the phone. And I can't smell you over the phone and I feel like a 1-900-Build-Me-Up hotline you call to feel good about yourself.

you have forced us into asexual, sunlit spaces. I finally have you in the dark and you're not hiding from me anymore and I'm gonna make this last as long as I can. I love this. I love you.

The world fell out of love with love at some point and

Stevie Wonder sings about his precious daughter—Isn't she lovely made from love?—and we'll never have a daughter and I lose my temper

Sometimes I picture the crack in my heart. It flares up when something reminds me of Jon.

You live in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction, of being a passenger on the wrong train looking longingly out the window at all the happy people traveling the right one.

Acid shoots through my esophagus, all that leftover love with no place to go.