Quotes About Heartache

I've loved you, as long as I've know you. Wanted you. Needed you. But I hit rock bottom when I had to let you go. I thought I lost you, life had no meaning for me -Wolf Patterson-

She's not coming back. No. He knew it was true. He had the feeling that the world might easily stop turning without the girl in it. Every hour was arduous, and when it was over, you had to start again with a new one, no better. He wondered how long he would be able to keep it going.

I couldn't make it out - why you ever let me, I mean. I understand now. Things like that happen when you're in love with the wrong person. Worse things. Things you never forgive yourself for.

I had found out in that glittering corridor off the ballroom that being with him could be more painful than being away from him.

My whole heart was so full of Simon that even my pity for Stephen wasn't quite real - it was only something I felt I ought to feel , more from my head than my heart . And I knew I ought to pity him all the more because I could pity him so little

I soon realised I was making a fool of myself...things like that happen when you are in love with the wrong person. Worse things. things you never forgive yourself for... ...I'll blame myself for as long as I live. It's you I love and always will.

I'll never fall in love, because I could never trust that I wouldn't be abandoned.

All this I am projecting, of course. I'll never know for sure. We can't fully understand what plagues each other's hearts, much less our own at times. Ultimately even our best friends are unknowable to us.

It didn't occur to me then, though it certainly does now, that it was years since I'd roused myself from my stupor of misery and self-absorption; between anomie and trance, inertia and parenthesis and gnawing my own heart out, there were a lot of small, easy, everyday kindnesses I'd missed out on; and even the word `kindness' was liking rising from unconsciousness into some hospital awareness of voices, and people, from a stream of digitized machines.

Me she was watching for: me. And the heart-shock of believing, for only a moment, that you might just have what could never be yours.

She closed her eyes, dark-lidded, dark shadows beneath them; she really was older, not the glancing-eyed girl I had fallen in love with but no less beautiful for that; beautiful now in a way that less excited my senses than tore at my very heart.

I felt like a lifetime had come and gone since my night with Pippa and I thought how happy I'd been, rushing to meet her in the sharp-edged winter darkness, my elation at spotting her under a streetlamp out in front of Film Forum and how I'd stood on the corner to savor it - the joy of watching her watch for me. Her expectant watching-the-crowd face. Me she was watching for: me. And the heart-shock of believing, for only a moment, that you might just have what could never be yours.

Her photographs, lining the hall outside my bedroom-- many different Pippas, at many different ages-- were a daily torment, always expected, always new; but though I tried to keep my eyes away always it seemed I was glancing up by mistake and there she was, laughing at someone else's joke or smiling at someone who wasn't me, always a fresh pain, a blow straight to the heart.

The description of shock and grief hot so close to home: but sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illuminated in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead

Worse: the thought of returning to any kind of normal routine seemed disloyal, wrong. It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone. Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

I thought she was going to say, because I don't love you, which probably would have been more or less the truth, but instead, to my surprise, she said: Because I love Henry. Henry's dead. I can't help it. I still love him. I loved him, too, I said. For just a moment, I thought I felt her waver. But then she looked away. I know you did, she said. But it's not enough.

It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone.

Butthole," he sobbed.

Because I love Henry. Henry's dead. I can't help it. I still love him.

Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours.

No. No, I don't believe you'd betray me with her. I don't believe you'd cheat on me. But I'm afraid, and I'm sick in my heart that you might look at her, then at me. And regret.

Well, that is what you risk when you fall in love. You risk losing your dignity.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking bad it hurts, but I don't know how to find you even though you're right in front of me.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking bad it hurts, but I don't know how to find you even though you're right in front of me.