Quotes About Longing

If I could make you stay, I would," he shouted. "If I had to beat you, chain you, starve you—if I could make you stay, I would." He turned back into the room; the wind blew his hair. He shook his finger at me, grotesquely playful. "One day, perhaps, you will wish I had.

I have never reached you, said Giovanni. You have never really been here.

Me, I want to escape,' he had told me, 'Je veux m'evader--this dirty world, this dirty body. I never wish to make love again with anything more than the body.

Mas não é isso mesmo? Você só passa a ter uma casa quando vai embora dela, e depois, quando foi embora, você nunca mais pode voltar.

I'd rather have the memories and be sad than to not have the memories at all.

You know it's the most hurtful feeling to be totally in love with someone you can't be with.

I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I'd see her again.

I go to my Room and I drink and I smoke some cigarettes and I think about her. I drink and I smoke and I think about her and at a certain point blackness comes and my memory fails me.

My life has been like all the lives, long and hard and full of sadness and confusion and horror, a frightening, difficult dream punctuated by brief moments of joy. And as is the case with all people's lives, the moments of joy are never often enough and never long enough.

In Lilly's eyes her beautiful clear water eyes there is what I have sought and never found, wanted and never had, hoped for and never discovered. Love.

Were it up to me, I would be with Lilly. Were it up to me I would be asleep in her arms. She's dead, in a cooler in some fucking morgue, and i'll never sleep in her arms again. The thought of it makes me sick, and it makes me want to join her. The rose will help me. It is time to start the killing. Time to fucking start. (James Frey, pg.39)

The one word love means too little for what it is. It means everything and that is still not enough. It doesn't communicate even a fraction of the feelings involved. Love. The word is not enough for what it is. Love. Love.

As we stand to leave, I look across the dining hall and through the glass at Lilly. She is smiling at me and the smile hurts.

I am alone. I have no one to talk to and no one to call

I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything.

He's gone, but my memory isn't and it won't be for a long time. It has always been a fault of mine. I hold my memory.

That's the worst way to miss somebody. When they're right beside you and yo miss them anyway.

We are anxious in the face of our unchangeable past; we long to recreate segments of our private histories, but we are stuck with them.

Unconditional love with someone you've never met is a straightforward feeling that is so overwhelming and fulfilling.

I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.

If you've really loved a book, or a movie for that matter, really loved it, what you want is that same book again, but as if you've never read it. And when you get something unfamiliar, you feel betrayed.

There is no more unfortunate creature under the sun than a fetishist who yearns for a woman's shoe and has to settle for the whole woman.

Romance says, ' I want it now!'. Wisdom urges patience

Magnificent beauty of nature inviting you to long for her, to love her, and then purify your heart and mind with the illuminating beauty of nature.