Liane Moriarty Quotes

I felt incomplete. I was always happy but I felt incomplete and that I needed to be pushing through.

Desire is an attempt to feel the void.

I finally had what I'd wantes all those years. Except now that I had it, i felt as empty as this unkempt pool I was dangling my legs into.

Sonnet XXV Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: I wavered through the streets, among Objects: Nothing mattered or had a name: The world was made of air, which waited. I knew rooms full of ashes, Tunnels where the moon lived, Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost', Questions that insisted in the sand. Everything was empty, dead, mute, Fallen abandoned, and decayed: Inconceivably alien, it all Belonged to someone else - to no one: Till your beauty and your poverty Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.

When you can no longer feel the life that you are, you are likely to try to fill up your life with things.

I would have done anything to feel real again.

The essence of man is, discontent, divine discontent; a sort of love without a beloved, the ache we feel in a member we no longer have.

He longed to be lost but he couldn't bear not to be found.

I've always been in this sort of perpetual state of existential longing. I feel like something's missing.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

'Free' is more of that 'familiarity breeds contempt' kind of thing. It's about saying 'Wait, I'm longing for something more than I have and I don't know what it is that I want, but I know I want it.' It has nothing to do with what I'm going through, personally.

It's always really funny to watch someone who really wants something who isn't getting it but who's desperate for it.

I've definitely had the long stretches of time in my personal life where I've felt an intense loneliness and a desperation to feel something real and to have something that truly meant something in my life.

The chill of what I won't feel gnaws at my present heart.

Spiritual emptiness is a universal disease.

Still desiring, we live without hope.

How could someone with a life this full feel this empty?

I am so fed up and joyless that not only have I nothing to fill my soul, I cannot even conceive of anything that could possibly satisfy it - alas, not even the bliss of heaven.

I am a cage, in search of a bird.

We have no hope and yet we live in longing.

There is an empty place within me where my heart once was.

Countries like ours are full of people who have all of the material comforts they desire, yet lead lives of quiet (and at times noisy) desperation, understanding nothing but the fact that there is a hole inside them and that however much food and drink they pour into it, however many motorcars and television sets they stuff it with, however many well-balanced children and loyal friends they parade around the edges of it. . . it aches!

Shattered dreams, worthless years, here I am encased in a hollow shell. Life began, then was done, now I stare into a cold and empty well.

His heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful for being difficult to explain.

I feel like a drunken man who doesn't have a drink.