Where are people going? I wonder what they hope will happen and what they are afraid of? For me it's the same thing and has to do with being loved.
What everyone wants more than anything else is to be loved.
It seems that ambition makes most people wish to be loved rather than to love others.
All I wanted was to be a pea of being inside the green pod of time.
I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found.
Parent and child may both love, but - unbeknown to the child - each party is on a different end of the axis. This is why, in adulthood, when we first long for 'love', what we mean is that we want to 'be loved' as we were once loved by a parent.
I was never popular. I always kind of wanted to be accepted with the rich kids, with the cool kids, and I never had that.
But he does look stupid.' Yearning. Not stupid. He wants awfully to be on the inside staring out: anybody with their nose pressed against a glass is liable to look stupid.
Everybody wants attention, more or less. I just want a lot.
There is no shame in my saying that we all want to be loved.
What if all I'd ever known was how it had been for the past three years - me being an unwanted outsider in my own family? I might have turned out like Aphrodite, and I might still be letting my parents control me because I was hoping desperately that I would be good enough, make them proud, so that some day they would really love me.
I wanted Lillian Hellman to be perfect because I wasn't perfect myself. I really wanted a mentor.
Someday when you're twenty, maybe, I'll see you again. You'll be this hot soccer star at some great school, with a million guys more interesting than I am chasing you down. And you know what? I'll see you and I'll pray you want me still.
I guess what everyone wants more than anything else is to be loved. And to know that you loved me for my singing is too much for me. Forgive me if I don't have all the words. Maybe I can sing it and you'll understand.
I suspect that all the agony that goes into writing is borne precisely because the writer longs for acceptance-but it must be acceptance on his own terms.
