Hungry Quotes (displaying: 1 - 10 of 449 quotes )
Hungry”, she said, “That’s what it’s like. Inside of me, always. This ... hunger that nothing is able to assuage. It’s horrible. It’s why I always feel ... well, empty. I know I can’t keep living this way, but I don’t know how to make the hunger stop.” “Perhaps you’re not meant to”, he said, “Perhaps you’re meant to cope with it. Either that or to come to realize that the hunger and the appeasement are two entirely different things. They’re unrelated. One will never quell the other.” She thought about this. She considered how much of herself – and the way she’d lived so long – had been tied up with a single unfulfilled desire. She finally said, “This is not who I want to be.” “Then be someone else.” Deborah/Lynley
I learned to understand Czanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought Czanne was probably hungry in a different way.
I was hungry when I left Pyongyang. I wasn't hungry just for a bookshop that sold books that weren't about Fat Man and Little Boy. I wasn't ravenous just for a newspaper that had no pictures of F.M. and L.B. I wasn't starving just for a TV program or a piece of music or theater or cinema that wasn't cultist and hero-worshiping. I was hungry. I got off the North Korean plane in Shenyang, one of the provincial capitals of Manchuria, and the airport buffet looked like a cornucopia. I fell on the food, only to find that I couldn't do it justice, because my stomach had shrunk. And as a foreign tourist in North Korea, under the care of vigilant minders who wanted me to see only the best, I had enjoyed the finest fare available.
I had been hungry all the years-My noon had come, to dine-I, trembling, drew the table near. And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen. When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth. I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread,'Twas so unlike the crumb. The birds and I had often shared. In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,--Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush. Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found. That hunger was a way. Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.
Please let him come, and give me the resilience & guts to make him respect me, be interested, and not to throw myself at him with loudness or hysterical yelling; calmly, gently, easy baby easy. He is probably strutting the backs among crocuses now with seven Scandinavian mistresses. And I sit, spiderlike, waiting, here, home; Penelope weaving webs of Webster, turning spindles of Tourneur. Oh, he is here; my black marauder; oh hungry hungry. I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait; and he plays on the banks of the river Cam like a casual faun.
Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day? Hungry here with the crunching swine, Hungry harvest have I to reap; In a dream I count my Father's kine, I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, I watch his lambs that browse and leap. There is plenty of bread at home, His servants have bread enough and to spare; The purple wine-fat froths with foam, Oil and spices make sweet the air, While I perish hungry and bare. Rich and blessed those servants, rather Than I who see not my Father's face! I will arise and go to my Father:— "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me, Father, a servant's place.