Quotes About Longing

I wanted to be a novelist for so long.

I love a Coffee Crisp, and they are nowhere to be found in America.

Desire creates its own object.

You will seek not a near but a distant objective, and you will not be satisfied with what you may have done.

I obsess over places I will never live and restaurants at which I aspire to eat.

I am heat obsessed. I crave the heat in my bedroom.

I never have crushes, apart from my husband Michael, I guess, because I was obsessed with him, and I didn't speak to him for nearly a year. I kept going into the restaurant where he worked to look at him.

I'm obsessed with getting married, but I don't even have a boyfriend.

For me, I was never really obsessed with Luke Cage. My obsession was Wolverine.

Obviously after such a long gap, one itches to get back to the game and score big runs.

I miss my parents a lot. I obviously don't see them loads anyway because they live up north. But knowing that they're only a couple of hours away is a lot different than knowing that they're 12 hours away.

She was never to ask me a question about the man she loved most and understood least. Perhaps she knew enough to know that for her it was enough to have loved him.

Love was love, one could find it with anyone, one could find it anywhere. It was just that you could never keep it. Not unless you were ready to die for it.

Listen my love the hour is late my side has an ache If you don't get a taxi my heart will break

I was in love with a beautiful, brilliant girl who was married to the most elegant and incisive gent I had ever met; there was no hope for me but, oh, the love was beautiful. Mr.

When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd even bothered.

He paused again as a tear of longing rolled from cheek to lip with the sweet-salty taste of an old memory.

There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself—not just sometimes, but always. When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered. Nothing really interested him—least of all the things that should have.

The note that she struck had beaten down the doors of a closed memory; and Father Abram held his lost Aglaia close in his arms.

Mato de hambre al amor, para que devore lo que encuentre.

Desire turns us into ghosts

Solitude is the profoundest fact of the human condition. Man is the only being who knows he is alone, and the only one who seeks out another. His nature – if that word can be used in reference to man, who has 'invented' himself by saying 'no' to nature – consists in his longing to realize himself in another. Man is nostalgia and a search for communion. Therefore, when he is aware of himself he is aware of his lack of another, that is, of his solitude.

Garabato Con un trozo de carbón Con mi gis roto y mi lápiz rojo dibujar tu nombre el nombre de tu boca el signo de tus piernas en la pared de nadie En la puerta prohibida grabar el nombre de tu cuerpo hasta que la hoja de mi navaja sangre y la piedra grite y el muro respire como un pecho...

this stray little thought released in him some echo of the past, a solitary trembling note whose sound rose higher and higher in his chest, awakening inarticulate longings and, inseparable from them, a piercing, unfamiliar sorrow.