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Longing Quotes

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Longing Quotes

“Dulu aku takut akan dua hal: kekelaman dan maut. Aku akan menyelinap keluar dari tempat tidurku yang kecil pada tengah malam dan mengendap masuk ke tempat tidur ibuku. Kususupkan tubuhku ke tubuhnya yang hangat dan aku tak mau berpisah dari ibuku. Kulengkungkan tubuhku agar menjadi lebih kecil dan kucoba untuk menciutkan diriku hingga ukuran janin yang dapat kembali ke rahim ibuku. Segenap tubuhku bergetar dengan keinginan yag kuat ini dan getar seperti dalam demam. Kupikir tak ada yang dapat menyelamatkan diriku dari maut yang mendekat dalam kelam kecuali jika aku menghilang ke dalam rahim yang hangat dan lembut itu yang akan membungkus diriku sendirian di sana.”

DaughterSafetyLongingMotherhoodMelancholyWombMothers And Daughters
Book:موت معالي الوزير سابقاً
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“This strong and rough man, whose feathers were constantly being ruffled, had suddenly softened and brightened. Something unusual and entirely unexpected had begun to stir in his soul. Three years of separation, three years of a broken marriage had dislodged nothing from his heart. And perhaps every day of those three years he had dreamed of her, of the beloved being who had once said 'I love you' to him. Knowing Shatov, I can say for certain that he would never have allowed himself even to dream that any woman could say 'I love you' to him. He was fiercely chaste and modest, regarded himself as a dreadful freak, hated his own face and character, compared himself to some monster who was fit only to be taken around and exhibited at fairs. As a consequence of all this, he valued honesty above all things and dedicated himself to his convictions to the point of fanaticism; he was sullen, proud, quick to anger and sparing with words.”

LovePsychologyEmotionalLongingConvictionVulnerabilityModestyIntrospectionLiteraryCharacter Study
Book:Demons
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“This strong and rough man, whose feathers were constantly being ruffled, had suddenly softened and brightened. Something unusual and entirely unexpected had begun to stir in his soul. Three years of separation, three years of a broken marriage had dislodged nothing from his heart. And perhaps every day of those three years he had dreamed of her, of the beloved being who had once said 'I love you' to him. Knowing Shatov, I can say for certain that he would never have allowed himself even to dream that any woman could say 'I love you' to him. He was fiercely chaste and modest, regarded himself as a dreadful freak, hated his own face and character, compared himself to some monster who was fit only to be taken around and exhibited at fairs. As a consequence of all this, he valued honesty above all things and dedicated himself to his convictions to the point of fanaticism; he was sullen, proud, quick to anger and sparing with words. But now this single being who had loved him for two weeks (he had always, always believed that!), this being whom he had always regarded as immeasurably superior to himself despite his utterly sober understanding of her faults; this being whom he could forgive everything, everything (of which there really true, so that in his eyes he himself was guilty of everything could be absolutely no before her), this woman, this Marya Shatova, was suddenly question, for just the opposite was actual again in his house, before him again... this was almost impossible to understand!”

LovePsychologyEmotionalLongingConvictionVulnerabilityModestyIntrospectionLiteraryCharacter Study
Book:Demons
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“This was a longing she had never permitted herself to acknowledge. She faced it now. She thought: If emotion is one's response to the things the world has to offer, if she loved the rails, the building, and more: if she loved her love for them-there was still one response, the greatest, that she had missed. She thought: To find a feeling that would hold, as their sum, as their final expression, the purpose of all the things she loved on earth . . . To find a consciousness like her own, who would be the meaning of her world, as she would be of his . .. No, not Francisco d'Anconia, not Hank Rearden, not any man she had ever met of admired . . . A man who existed only in her knowledge of her capacity for an emotion she had never felt, but would have given her life 10 experience ... She twisted herself in a slow, faint movement, her breasts pressed to the desk; she felt the longing in her muscles, in the nerves of her body. Is that what you want? Is it as simple as that?- she thought, but knew There was some unbreakable link between her that it was not simple. love for her work and the desire of her body; as if one gave her the right to the other, the right desire would neg as if one were the completion of the other and the desire would never be satisfied, except by a being of equal greatness.”

Longing
Book:Atlas Shrugged
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“So many of us love tragic drama, rainy days, tearjerker movies. We adore cherry blossoms--we even hold festivals in their honor--preferring them to equally lovely flowers because they die young. (The Japanese, who love sakura flowers most of all, attribute this preference to mono no aware, which means a desired state of gentle sorrow brought about by "the pathos of things" and "a sensitivity to impermanence").”

SorrowLongingImpermanence
Book:Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole
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“Longing itself is divine," writes the Hindu spiritual leader Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. "Longing for worldly things makes you inert. Longing for Infinity fills you with life. The skill is to bear the pain of longing and move on. True longing brings up spurts of bliss." At the heart of all these traditions is this pain of separation, the longing for reunion, and occasionally, the transcendent achievement of it.”

SorrowLonging
Book:Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole
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“Виталий вспоминает, и всегда при этом в ушах мелодия из «Онегина»: «Ах, счастье было так возможно, так близко…». И делается грустно. Грустно, но он ни о чем не жалеет: слишком он знает психиатрию, чтобы жалеть. Он ни о чем не жалеет. Ни о чем не жалеет. Не жалеет…”

Longing
Book:Прощай, зеленая Пряжка
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“Täglich ging die wunderschöne Sultanstochter auf und nieder Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn, Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern. Täglich stand der junge Sklave Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn, Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern; Täglich ward er bleich und bleicher. Eines Abends trat die Fürstin Auf ihn zu mit raschen Worten: Deinen Namen will ich wissen, Deine Heimath, deine Sippschaft! Und der Sklave sprach: ich heiße Mohamet, ich bin aus Yemmen, Und mein Stamm sind jene Asra, Welche sterben wenn sie lieben.”

LoveLongingUnfulfilled Love
Book:Romanzero: Ironische romantische Lyrik eines deutschen Dichters im Exil
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“My life feels like a dream that has already ended. There's nothing to fear and nothing to rejoice about. I should feel happy, but instead, I feel nothing. Lately, I experience a profound sense of emptiness. This void is unmistakable, even when I try to convince myself otherwise. It is beautiful, boundless, full yet empty. Now I've come to understand what people mean about memories—whether they are good or bad, they always leave you feeling a bit more empty afterward. After an ending, there's just a long stretch of time where it seems everything has concluded and nothing new will ever begin. Maybe there is no path back to a lost paradise.”

MemoriesLongingNostalgiaEmptinessMelancholyVoidExistentialIntrospectionParadise LostDreamlike
Author:Rolf van der Wind
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“I love you. I miss you. Please get out of my house. Nothing today hasn’t happened before: I woke alone, bundled the old dog into his early winter coat, watered him, fed him, left him to his cage for the day closing just now. My eye drifts to the buff belly of a hawk wheeling, as they do, in a late fall light that melts against the turning oak and smelts its leaves bronze. Before you left, I bent to my task, fixed in my mind the slopes and planes of your face; fitted, in some essential geography, your belly’s stretch and collapse against my own, your scent familiar as a thousand evenings. Another time, I might have dismissed as hunger this cataloguing, this fitting, this fixing, but today I crest the hill, secure in the company of my longing. What binds us, stretches: a tautness I’ve missed as a sapling, supple, misses the wind.”

LovePoetryLongingLeavingMissing Someone
Author:Donika Kelly
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