Quotes About Longing

Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses.

There are women who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and to take your pleasure of them; but this one fills you only with the desire to die slowly beneath her gaze.

Needing something is not the same thing as being interested in the thing itself.

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

Death was a sweet relief for my present miseries, and I vehemently longed for its arrival.

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.

A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.

there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.

I see so little of you these days; your presence is as rare as that of one's discarded mistress.

I am dying of thirst by the side of the fountain.

Binoculars are a distance when near the eyes. Far from home, near the heart, love.

Heaven without love : what a hell.

Lack creates desire. I feel becoming it. (Le manque crée le désir. Je sens le devenir)

The hands that are spaced are docks, where desires can dock. (Les mains écartées sont des quais, - Où les désirs peuvent accoster.)

The remembrance of a woman is longer than a tear. (Le souvenir d'une femme - Est plus long qu'une larme.)

It's only my child-wife.

She'll wish there was more, and that's the great art o' letter-writin'.

You have been the last dream of my soul.

I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.

And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.

How could you give me life, and take from me all the inappreciable things that raise it from the state of conscious death? Where are the graces of my soul? Where are the sentiments of my heart? What have you done, oh, Father, What have you done with the garden that should have bloomed once, in this great wilderness here? Said louisa as she touched her heart.

I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.

And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy with her, but always miserable.

I never had one hour's happiness in her society, and yet my mind all round the four-and-twenty hours was harping on the happiness of having her with me unto death.