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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, Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, teacher, environmental activist, pépiniériste and inventor (born 1939)

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But please, when you see an opportunity…” He presses his hand to my cheek, cold and strong, and tilts my head up so I have to look at him. His eyes glint. They almost look predatory. “Ruin them.

I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.

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.

Truman Capote, American author (1924-1984)

yearning

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We exchanged a meaning glance. Or, rather, two meaning glances, I giving him one and he giving me the other.

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