Quotes About Longing

I'm so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything,' maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn't do it, I had buried too much too deeply inside me. And here I am, instead of there.

I wanted so much to have a life. Even just once, even for a second.

I didn't feel empty. I wished I'd felt empty. ... I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.

She wanted nothing more than someone to miss, to touch, with whom to speak like a child, with whom to be a child.

We had everything to say to each other, but no ways to say it.

It's the tragedy of loving, you can't love anything more than something you miss.

This is love, she thought, isn't it? When you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?

It is my great hope that our paths, however long and winding, will cross again.

No, I do not like music. (But what she really was trying to say was this: I like music better than anything in the world, after you.)

He couldn't bear to live, but he couldn't bear to die. He couldn't bear the thought of he making love to someone else, but neither could he bear the absence of the thought. And as for the note, he couldn't bear to keep it, but he couldn't bear to destroy it either.

I can only hold on to the things I want to lose.

Time was passing like a hand waving from a train that I wanted to be on.

She was so beautiful, like someone who you will never meet, but always dream of meeting, like someone who is too good for you.

In the end I was the clay and she was the sculptor, I thought, it's a shame that we have to live, but it's a tragedy that we get to live only one life, because if I'd had two lives, I would have spent one of them with her.

he enclosed pieces of string that he used to measure out his body--his head, thigh, forearm, finger, neck, everything. He wanted me to sleep with them under my pillow. He said that when he came back, we would remeasure his body against the string as proof that he hadn't changed.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to shout myself into his ear.

I have been waiting for you for so long." I pointed to the car. "We are searching for Trachimbrod." "Oh," she said and she released a river of tears. "You are here. I am it.

It's a shame that we have to live, but it's a tragedy that we get to live only one life, because if I'd had two lives, I would have spent one of them with her.

It was inevitable: Yankel fell in love with his never-wife. He would wake from sleep to miss the weight that never depressed the bed next to him, remember in earnest the weight of gestures she never made, long for the un-weight of her un-arm slung over his too-real chest, making his widower's rememberences that much more convincing and his pain that much more real.

We just stood there, facing each other, but nine floors apart.

She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release.

I walked into a bakery seven years later and there he was. He had dogs at his feet and a bird in a cage beside him. The seven years were not seven years. They were not seven hundred years. Their length could not be measured in years, just as an ocean could not explain the distance we had traveled, just as the dead can never be counted. I wanted to run away from him, and I wanted to go right up to him.

I wanted to build walls around him, I wanted to separate inside from outside, I wanted to give him an infinitely long blank book and the rest of time.

I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.