Best 608 quotes in «longing quotes» category

His need was to exist, and to move onwards at the greatest possible risk, and with maximum of privation. If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this bepatched youth.

Home is where they want you to stay longer

Ho provato molto seriamente a non pensare a lui. Ho sepolto il suo ricordo sotto i baci, le carezze e le voci di altri ragazzi ma ora tutto ciò che sento, provo e avverto sulla pelle è lui e il suo profumo di cannella.

However much you have been wanting and hoping and dreaming of meeting the person of your dreams, it is only when you meet them that you will start missing them. It seems that the presence of an object is required to make its absence felt (or to make the absence of something felt). A kind of longing may have preceded their arrival, but you have to meet in order to feel the full force of your frustration in their absence.

How much do you trade to defeat lonesomeness?

How many poems must you write to convince yourself you have a family? Everyone leaves and you end up the stranger.

How strange and ironic it is- all the words i long to say are lost in words.

Hunger of the heart is much stronger than hunger for food.

I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole.

I am helpless as the sea at the end of her string. I am restless. Restless and useless. I, too, create corpses.

I could never stop comparing the way it was with Gertrud and the way it had been with Hanna; again and again, Gertrud and I would hold each other, and I would feel that something was wrong, that she was wrong, that she moved wrong and felt wrong, smelled wrong and tasted wrong. I thought I would get over it. I hoped it would go away. I wanted to be free of Hanna. But I never got over the feeling that something was wrong.

I am isolated. I sit in a glass ball, I see people through a glass wall. I scream, but they do not hear me. - Ellen West

...and one might suspect too that A. Cretan said : "To long to read!" “My library is an archive of longings.” ― Susan Sontag" “There is a space between man's [sic] imagination and man's [sic] attainment that may only be traversed by his longing.” ― Khalil Gibran [sick]

I believe that we are arks of the covenant and our true nature is not rage or deceit or terror or logic or craft or even sorrow. It is longing.

I could wish to spy the nakedness of their hearts, and through the different disguises of customs, climates, and religion, find out what is good in them, to fashion my own by. It is for this reason that I have not seen the Palais Royal - nor the facade of the Louvre - nor have attempted to swell the catalogues we have of pictures, statues, and churches - I conceive every fair being as a temple, and would rather enter in, and see the original drawings and loose sketches hung up in it, than the Transfiguration of Raphael itself.

If he would see me again, I would die happy. In the meantime, I was merely dying.

I didn't feel lonely until there was something to yearn for. Loneliness and longing are two sides of the same coin.

I felt bad for trying to live a happy, full life, while my heart was buried in a dead man’s chest.

I didn't have that kind of friendship, the forever kind of friendship that will last your whole life through, no matter what.

I do,” Drew admitted, his eyes devouring my body appreciatively. “But with you…I want so much more, Summer. So much more than you’re willing to give me.” He paused, “Every single touch, every single look you give me, I cherish.

I’d never dreamed anybody could love me the way he did. And even when he proved it to me time and again – I still could hardly believe it was true.

I do not want to eat or drink, or i will lose the taste of you in my mouth

If I had one night, I'd hold you in my arms, Find redemption, no more contention, Keeping you close. Too long, years gone, Wasted away. One night, our night, Remember this. I won't forget you, No I won't forget you.—Red-Eyed Loons

If i think about us logically, there is no chance for us. But logic doesn't produce magic.

If I was ever glad to have gone, I was never glad to go.

If you do not want to write, at least spit on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope, and send it to me. You are not taking any notice of me at all. God forgive you – all I wanted was a few words from you.

If only they could listen with their hearts & not their minds, maybe then they would understand that often times it's the emotions not spoken that are longing to be heard.

If we could imagine, while we live them, to what mundane moments nostalgia manages to stick itself...

If you think of the moon as already used, it’s not as difficult to take in, because then it’s just like you, Traveled the world like you, Seen the globe like you, But, it’s still bright.

I guess that's the magic of songs. The very best ones, they let you forget that they were written by someone about something that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Instead, you bend them to your life, matching the "you" of the song with whomever you want. The songs feel so much like your pain, your love, your longing, that you forget they were born from someone else's.

If you were mine, I'd never leave you, Prudence. I couldn't.

I gaze out of the window at the lanes of red taillights streaming towards the hills, the city laid out in anonymous grids and quadrants, the view confirming that I was much more alone than I thought, and all those red lights inspired nothing more than a sense that I, too, should be fleeing somewhere.

I go backwards and forwards, recapturing the past, wondering about the future—and, most unreasonably, I find myself longing for the past more than for the future.

I go fishing in my mind. I put out bait, the bait of my own longing, my desire, and my hunger for connection, for a tug of something alive at the end of a line. Something that I may have to struggle with to pull in, but that will be wild and important to me, whether I keep it or let it go.

I had to do something about my longing, so I got up, went to the kitchen in my nightgown, peeled a pound of potatoes, boiled them up, sliced them, fried them in butter, salted them generously and ate every bite of them - asking my body the whole while if it would please accept the satisfaction of a pound of fried potatoes in lieu of the fulfillment of lovemaking. My body replied, only after eating every bite of food: "No deal, babe.

I hated the gnawing longing that accompanied having everything.

I have laughter and amazement, not search results. I have unexpected longings, not hierarchical ratings.

I have late night conversations with the moon; he tells me about the sun, and I tell him about you.

I have sought so much Your being Behind everything I knew In the new Beginnings, And the fearful mornings, When anxiety and hope Live side by side And that My shadow Only aspires to lie With your shadow.

I know this doesn't exactly make me unique, but I love the internet. I love it. I think the way I feel about the internet is the way some people feel about the ocean. It's so huge and unknowable, but also totally predictable. You type a line of symbols and click enter, and everything you want to happen, happens. Not like real life, where all the wanting in the world can't make something exist

I lay down on one of [the rocks] in the fetal position. When I awoke it was after one a.m. and the tide was rising higher. My body was coated in salt and ocean foam. I felt like I was part of the rock and part of the ocean, and I wondered if this was how Sappho felt, even in her deepest desperation, part of the earth, like that desperation and longing or eternal cosmic want was something to be celebrated–something natural–holy even, or at least, not just something to be endured.

I hung a picture of him above my bed and learned by hand the internal workings of the female combustion engine.

I know he wasn’t perfect… But he did the best impression of it I’ve ever seen.

I know that touching you will be understanding my fingers for the first time.

I long to embrace, to include in my own short life, all that is accessible to man.

I long for the day when I hear the music without any song.

I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.

I love you, he thought, looking at Win. I love every part of you, every thought and word... the entire complex, fascinating bundle of all the things you are. I want you with ten different kinds of need at once. I love all the seasons of you, the way you are now, the thought of how much more beautiful you'll be in the decades to come. I love you for being the answer to every question my heart could ask. And it seemed so easy, once he capitulated. It seemed natural and right. Kev wasn't certain if he was surrendering to Win or to his own passion for her. Only that there was no more holding back. He would take her. And he would give her everything he had, every part of his soul, even the broken pieces.

I love the story of a thing. I love a thing for what it means a thousand times more than for what it's worth.

I may not know quite what you are, but I know what you are not… You are not the kind who leaves my mind and is easily forgot.