The way Edith Wharton writes about longing is so deeply beautiful (also like she took a peak into my brain), she is so severely under appreciated. The way she manages to pack comments on the status of women, class and the fakeness of upper-class society into a book based around two people yearing i am in awe!

“The longing was with him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving, like the sudden whim of a sick man for food or drink once tasted and long since forgotten. He could not see beyond the craving, or picture what it might lead to, for he was not conscious of any wish to speak to Madame Olenska or to hear her voice. He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the wond might seem less empty.”