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Longing Quotes

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Longing Quotes

“Missing someone you love for an extended period of time can and will lead to madness, every bit as much as a wound that is not cleaned will lead to a festering sore, and thence an illness that spreads throughout the body. The only boundary between desire and obsession is time; if you crave someone long enough, it becomes a need. It becomes your ever-waking thought. The only thing you live for.”

LoveTimeMissingLongingObsessionWoundThe Lighthouse Witches
Author:C J Cooke
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“I remember you only rarely And your fate I do not view But the mark won't be stripped from my soul Of the meaningless meeting with you. Your red house I avoid on purpose, Your red house murky river beside, But I know, that I am disturbing Gravely your heart-pierced respite. Would it weren't you that, on to my lips pressing, Prayed of love, and for love did wish, Would it weren't you that with golden verses Immortalized my anguish. Over future I do secret magic If the evening is truly blue, And I divine a second meeting, Unavoidable meeting with you.”

LovePoetryFearSecretMagicLongingObsessionRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“He longed for her more than he could say. It was a wonderful thing to be able to truly want someone like this –the feeling was so real, so overpowering. He hadn’t felt this way in ages. Maybe he never had before. Not that everything about it was wonderful: his chest ached, he found it hard to breathe, and a fear, a dark oscillation, had hold of him. But now even that kind of ache had become an important part of the affection he felt. He didn’t want to let that feeling slip from his grasp. Once lost, he might never happen across that warmth again. If he had to lose it, he would rather lose himself.”

FeelingsLossLongingAffectionAche
Book:Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage
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“Then Kaianan stood staring at them; Darayan and Archibel laughing and mucking around as they leaped over their back-fence home. Envy held her; she wished she had someone close who understood her like they did each other. Maybe Xandou did understand her—but he would never allow her out, nor would Dersji. Kaianan sighed; maybe it was someone she just hadn’t met yet.”

FriendshipLongingEnvyJealousyComparison
Book:The Battle of Middle Forsda
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“If only you would kiss me. Press your lips to mine like a searing iron. Wrap me in your arms as if you were a monarch claiming a kingdom. Hold me close until I warm through to the core. Do this, and I promise to melt into you, no longer a cold and frozen figure in your narrowed sight. How devoted I would be if only your lips burned for mine! If only you would kiss me.”

LoveLongingDevotionKissRichelle GoodrichRichelle E GoodrichRichelleLove PoemKiss Me
Book:Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year
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“The pain we feel so deeply inside is the longing to capture moments in life. It is an illusion of the mind that this time can always be kept. We have to let the moments go and learn to accept the goodbyes. No matter the joy or sorrow, keep your heart open and your spirit willing. Embrace the highs and lows of life, cherishing each moment as it passes; that is the essence of living.”

LifeMomentsTimeAcceptanceIllusionLongingCaptureGoodbyes
Author:Rolf van der Wind
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“I sometimes feel like a slap when I hear the word functional. How much does a counselor know about your own life? Do not feel too much, do this, do that, these are the tools to process emotions, these are the tools to do this, do that, what the fucking tragedy. Isn’t the whole purpose of existence is to feel and feel more and a bit more? There is no logical rationale on why one should wait for years for a person. Maybe I did not feel the need to find a reason. In a life where I try to find the reason before opening a 30 second video, wasn’t that something that’s enough. Love is not supposed to be rational. When I feel, I feel. I feel a lot. And to doubt the love I had makes me doubt everything I had. Was anything real then, if not this? I do not know what I am feeling, but whatever it is, it is heavy. I did not know I had the capacity to feel this much and I did. I read once there are more atoms of hydrogen in a spoon than there are spoons on the earth. At that time it seemed very vague and funny, trivial but funny. But now that you are gone this is making me feel the heaviness of one spoon because a mare spoon is holding too many incomparable things. I hold too much of you inside of me, I hold too many memories inside of me that I am somehow on the verge of blasting but yet somehow I am not full. The waves of your memories come again and again. These tears are a witness that I loved you and I loved you well.”

LoveLossGriefSelf HelpLongingGrievingGrief And HealingLonging For Love
Book:Grief as it is: a published journal of love and grief
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“I sometimes feel like a slap when I hear the word functional. How much does a counselor know about your own life? Do not feel too much, do this, do that, these are the tools to process emotions, these are the tools to do this, do that, what the fucking tragedy. Isn’t the whole purpose of existence is to feel and feel more and a bit more?”

LoveLossGriefSelf HelpLongingGrievingGrief And HealingLonging For Love
Book:Grief as it is: a published journal of love and grief
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“Grief is weird. Some days I can go hours without thinking about the fact that he’s gone. It wasn’t like that the first couple of months. It just changes one day, and you don’t even realize how it happened. It sneaks up so quietly, this invisible barrier that slowly stretches out the amount of time between those thoughts. And then you go, oh yeah, I’m still really sad about this”

GriefRelationship QuotesLongingInsperationalBreakups
Book:Forever Starts Tonight
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“This immediately reminds me of a thought I had about you months ago, during that miserably frenzied period when I thought you weren’t coming back: sat on the subway and musing over all the various adaptations of you that existed in other people’s anecdotes…a great composite of identities, none of them ever entirely capturing the whole. I’d wondered what they would have talked about if they’d sat down together – all those versions of you – whether they would have recognized each other if they’d met in the street.”

GriefLonging
Book:The Shape of Me Will Always Be You
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“I miss you so much in these wee morning hours, when the depth of the night sets my spirit free. When the forest is dark, and there doesn’t have to be anything in the world but the beauty I pull out of it. I miss you throughout the day, as I come across glories and wonders that could easily overwhelm me, but just dull because you’re not here to enjoy them.”

LoveRomanceGriefLongingGrievingMourningLonging QuotesFine Literature
Book:The Mourning After
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“I missed her so much I wanted to die: a hard, physical longing, like a craving for air underwater. Lying awake, I tried to recall all my best memories of her—to freeze her in my mind so I wouldn’t forget her—but instead of birthdays and happy times I kept remembering things like how a few days before she was killed she’d stopped me halfway out the door to pick a thread off my school jacket. For some reason, it was one of the clearest memories I had of her: her knitted eyebrows, the precise gesture of her reaching out to me, everything. Several times too—drifting uneasily between dreaming and sleep—I sat up suddenly in bed at the sound of her voice speaking clearly in my head, remarks she might conceivably have made at some point but that I didn’t actually remember, things like Throw me an apple, would you? and I wonder if this buttons up the front or the back? and This sofa is in a terrible state of disreputableness.”

MotherLossLonging
Book:The Goldfinch
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“Laine slowly rolled out of bed. The queen size was one of the few new things in the house. But now, even the new bed felt tainted. It was an inner-spring monument to lies, a petri dish of mendacity she had shared with her faithless husband, and shared now with creeping dreams that flew from the light but left harsh scratches and diseased black feathers. Laine promised herself that, as soon as, she could, she would rid herself of this house, this bed, her clothes, her jewelry - everything but the flesh she lived in. She would scrub herself clean and flee to start a new life whose first and only commandment would be: Never let thyself be lied to again.”

PastLossEmotionsLongingBetrayalRunning AwayOverwhelmedAdulteryEscapingMaterial PossessionsUnclean
Book:The Dead Path
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“Then again, in the early morning hours, when the world outside whispers of slumber, my fingers still trace the outline of a memory. He rests there, in that blind spot between the everyday, when his presence feels most palpable, engraved on the half of the bed that remains unforgivingly empty. What a paradox of loss, this heightened sense of him in the heart of his absence.”

LoveLossMissingLongingMemoryParadoxIntrospectionPsychological FictionLyrical Prose
Book:We Are Everyone
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“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow. Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail. A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live. When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all. A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother. So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

LifeHomeSpiritualityFearHistoryStrengthTrustPoetRootsEternityLongingSelf DiscoveryForestsHolinessTrees
Book:Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte
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