Quotes about Yearning
When power is scarce, a little of it is tempting.
— Margaret Atwood
He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.
— Margaret Atwood
He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.
— Margaret Atwood
He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it's the same kind of hunger.
— Margaret Atwood
Come away with me, he said, we will live on a desert island. I said, I am a desert island. It was not what he had in mind.
— Margaret Atwood
Still, I wanted to believe; indeed I longed to; and, in the end, how much of belief comes from longing?
— Margaret Atwood
Amazing how the heart clutches at anything familiar, whimpering Mine!Mine!
— Margaret Atwood
and the evening was so beautiful, that it made a pain in my heart, as when you cannot tell wether you are happy or sad; and I thought that if I could have a wish, it would be that nothing would ever change, and we would stay that way forever.
— Margaret Atwood
Then she let him lick her fingers for her. He ran his tongue around the small ovals of her nails. This was the closest she could get to him without becoming food: she was in him, or part of her was in part of him. Sex was the other way around: While that was going on, he was in her. I'll make you mine, lovers said in old books. They never said, I'll make you me.
— Margaret Atwood
Perhaps they were looking for passion; perhaps they delved into this book as into a mysterious parcel - a gift box at the bottom of which, hidden in layers of rustling tissue paper, lay something they'd always longed for but couldn't ever grasp.
— Margaret Atwood
Despite their cool poses they wear their cravings on the outside, like the suckers on a squid. They want it all.
— Margaret Atwood
He loved her; in some ways he was devoted to her. But he couldn't reach her, and it was the same on her side. It was as if they'd drunk some fatal potion that would keep them forever apart, even though they lived in the same house, ate at the same table, slept in the same bed.
— Margaret Atwood