Quotes About Longing

The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.On the marble pavement dust grows.Her empty room is cold and still.Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.Longing for that lovely ladyHow can I bring my aching heart to rest?

I don't want to be loved. I want to be desired. Love is safety, but desire is foul.

Roger Maris lost his hair the season he hit sixty-one, I still have all my hair, but when it's over, I'm going home to Mobile and fish for a long time.

I can settle down and be doing just fineTill I hear an old train rolling down the line,Then I hurry straight home and packAnd if I didn't go, I believe I'd blow my stackI love you baby, but you gotta understandWhen the Lord made me he made a ramblin' man

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill?He sounds too blue to fly.The midnight train is whining low,I'm so lonesome I could cry.

The awful glimpse down into the abyss of an existence without him had so staggered and appalled her heart that she felt she could never be quite the same again. However, it had opened her eyes to the fact that right down in the depths of her own heart she really had but one passionate desire, not for the things which the Shepherd had promised, but for himself. All she wanted was to be allowed to follow him forever.

I experienced the happiest moment of my life when you took me in your arms as your wife and pressed me to your heart; when I even think of that moment my heart beats madly and I have a terrible longing for you, and I think I would hug you to death if I had you here now.

At first she was overjoyed that he would be with her, but then she recalled that human people could not live under the water, and he could only visit her father's palace as a dead man.

You are a dreamer, and that is your misfortune.

Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them, so deep was the pain in her heart. She could not forget that this was the last night she would ever see the one for whom she had left her home and family, had given up her beautiful voice, and had day by day endured unending torment, of which he knew nothing at all. An eternal night awaited her.

And so it had been going on week after week. Month after month. That was what was so discouraging, that it went on so endlessly. Hadn't he once believed that it was all over? The worst thing was that it went on. And on, and on, with no end in sight.

There's always something lacking for human happiness, we can never be perfectly content.

In Mary this petition has been granted: she is, as it were, the open vessel of longing, in which life becomes prayer and prayer becomes life. Saint John wonderfully conveys this process by never mentioning Mary's name in his Gospel. She no longer has any name except "the Mother of Jesus".1 It is as if she had handed over her personal dimension, in order now to be solely at his disposal, and precisely thereby had become a person.

The Fathers of the Church say that prayer, properly understood, is nothing other than becoming a longing for God.

God is so wide that, within his spaciousness, even the longing for unfulfillable longing can soar freely.

God "has placed in all intellectual beings, as their hidden but primary power, the potentiality of knowing him; ever a generous Lord, he has planted in us lowly men, as part of our nature, the longing and desire for him

Years fly by, but the heart stays in the same place.

And it was no shame to her that she so dreamed. It was no shame that she called before her, one by one, those who had asked her to cross with them the threshold (of marriage) and those who might still ask her. It was no shame that, while her heart said always, "no," she still waited - waited for one whom she knew not, but only knew that she would know him when he came. And it was no shame to her that, even while this was so, she saw herself in the years to come a wife and mother.

This was the beginning. The end is easily foreseen; for, given a young man of Dick's temperament, longing for companionship, and another young man of Charlie's make?up, with a legitimate business to bring the two together, and only a friendship of the David and Jonathan order could result.

Her face was a face to go with one through the years, and to live still in one's dreams when the sap of life is gone.

He was still immersed in the dim, wet wonder of the folded wings that might open if someone loved him; he still hoped, probably, in a butterfly's unthinking way, for spring and warmth. How the wings ache, folded so, waiting; that is, they ache until they atrophy.

He was a precocious and delicate little boy, quivering with the malaise of being unloved. When we played, his child's heart would come into its own, and the troubled world where his vague hungers went unfed and mothers and fathers were dim and far away--too far away to ever reach in and touch the sore place and make it heal--would disappear, along with the world where I was not sufficiently muscled or sufficiently gallant to earn my own regard.

Do you not feel me near? I'm bending forward on the wind of thought, Sailing toward you on the lake of mind. O share this moment which may not be brought Ever to life again, once left behind.

RUTH: If you take the glass…I'll take you.