Rebecca Solnit Quotes

Absence becomes the greatest Presence.

The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear- Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.

Homesickness is universal. But Neapolitan homesickness goes back further than the accidents of domicile. It is nostalgia for love and loss themselves, a soul-sickness caused by the very idea of leaving.

You can miss someone every day and still be glad you don't have to see them.

I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.

MUSIC I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate, All that was once so beautiful is dead. Your hands once touched this table and this silver,And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. These things do not remember you, beloved: And yet your touch upon them will not pass. For it was in my heart you moved among them,And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.And in my heart they will remember always: They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!

The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.

My soul's the present shadow of a presence gone.

We have missed him in the sunshine, in the storm, in the twilight, ever since.

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost.

I think living with the absence of someone we love is like living in front of a mountain from which a person - a speck in the distance, on some distance ridge - is perpetually waving.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

homesickness is just a state of mind for me. i'm always missing someone or someplace or something, i'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. my life has been one long longing.

Some people speak and sing and walk and sit and sleep and silence their homesickness, for a long time, and to no avail. Some say that over time homesickness loses its specific content, that it starts to smolder and only then becomes all-consuming, because it’s no longer focused on a concrete home. I am one of the people who say that.

It is a long way off, sir" "From what Jane?" "From England and from Thornfield: and ___" "Well?" "From you, sir

a kind of memory that tells us that what we're now striving for was once nearer and truer and attached to us with infinite tenderness. Here all is distance, there it was breath. After the first home the second one seems draughty and strangely sexed.

I want my friend to miss me as long as I miss him.

If you want someone to miss you, go secretly and spray your fragrance somewhere.

I miss the game - I miss it a lot.

The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

She missed him the days when some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun when it was shining.