Quotes About Longing

Ansiaba una presencia a su lado, en todo momento. Unos dedos que rozaran ligeramente su nuca y una voz que se uniera a la suya en la oscuridad. Alguien que la esperara con un paraguas para acompañarla a casa bajo la lluvia, y sonriera abiertamente al verla llegar. Que bailara con ella en el balcón, cumpliera sus promesas y conociera sus secretos, que creara un pequeño universo allí donde se encontrara, solo con abrazos, susurros y confianza.

She looked at him, beautiful Kazimir whose smile used to work on her like a summons, compelling her to his side.

Without his books, Lazlo felt as though a vital link to his dream had been cut.

Every night she bore witness to what she could never have. It wasn't living. It was torture.

He'd felt this before and never wanted to feel it again. It could only diminish the memory of Madrigal; it already was. Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played

He had melted away, and she felt his absence like a space cut from the air.

He pulled free of Ruza and turned to face it, but still he hesitated. "My boy," he heard in his mind - old Master Hyrrokkin's words, kindly meant. "I hardly think he's recruiting librarians, boy." And always, there was Thyon Nero's voice. "Enlighten me, Strange. In what version of the would could you possibly help? What version of the world? The dream version, in which he could do anything, even fly. Even reshape mesarthium. Even hold Sarai in his arms.

Her wish that first time was simple, focused, and passionate: that she would see him again. Believing she was the only way she could bring herself to leave.

So they layered cynicism atop their longing, and it was something like laying laughter over the darkness — self-preservation of an uglier stripe.

Como si él fuera ese lugar seguro que siempre estaba buscando y nunca encontraba.

Pentru ca , dintre toate lucrurile de pe lume, aceasta era dorul ei cel mai mare de orfana : dragostea

Dorul ei de dragoste o facea sa se simta ca un pisoi care se invartea mereu printre glezne, mieunand Mangaie-ma, mangaie-ma, uita-te la mine, iubeste-ma .

Her heart was gasping, empty. Whatever resistance had been in her, she gave it up. Her hands knew what they wanted: They wanted Akiva, the spark and heat of him. Even in the warmth of the Moroccan spring, she was cold, as if the only thing with a chance of warming her was him.

Wishes, for example, for things like itches.

So they layered cynicism atop their longing, and it was something like laying laughter over the darkness - self-preservation of an uglier stripe. And thus did they harden themselves, by choosing to meet hate with hate.

To have been granted so tiny a taste of the nectar of her mouth, and so brief a brush with the velvet of her lips was unspeakable cruelty. He felt set on fire.

Forbid a man from something and he craves it like his soul's salvation, all the more so when that something is the source of incomparable riches.

Even after all these years, the thought of Isagol the Terrible stirred such a storm in him- of rancor and longing, desire and disgust, violence and even affection- all of it seething and bleeding and writhing, like a pit of rats eating one another alive.

Sathaz: The desire to possess that which can never be yours.

Just then, lit only by the flicker of his wings, the sight of him was so… right, somehow. He was right. It made no sense at all, but the feeling flooded through Karou, and whatever it was, it was as sweet as a patch of sun on a glossy floor and, like a cat, she just wanted to curl up in it.

Soon, everything else would come rushing at him. Like the ground to a falling man, it would come rushing up and hit him all at once—the place, the company, her words; one implication would lead to another and shatter him—but around that intake of breath the world hung silent and bright, so bright, and Akiva knew only this one thing, and held on to it and wanted to live inside of it and stay there forever. Karou was alive.

Karou'ya yak?n olmak, dünyan?n ucunda dengede durmaya çal??mak gibiydi. Sanki yer ayaklar?n?n alt?ndan kayarken, ad?mlar?n? sa?lam tutma çabas?na benziyordu. O çaresiz sarmal darbeyi durdurmak mümkün de?ildi, üstelik Akiva bu tatl? ve davetkar darbelerin bitmesini asla istemiyordu.

You have ruined my tongue for all other tastes," and understood finally what that phrase meant.

She wanted what her hands wanted: to touch Akiva, and not just with her fingertips, and not with caution, and not with fear of causing him pain. She wanted to hold him and be held, in soft perfect unity, like slow-dancing. She wanted to fit herself to him, breathe him, come alive against him, discover him, hold his face as he had held hers, with tenderness. With love .