That quote instantly makes me think of 'Interview with the Vampire' by Anne Rice. The line captures the melancholic eternity of Louis, the vampire protagonist, who reflects on his century-long existence with a mix of weariness and longing. Rice’s gothic prose makes immortality feel both glamorous and suffocating—like being trapped in a beautifully haunted painting. I reread the book last Halloween, and that line hit harder than ever; it’s not just about waiting, but the weight of memories piling up like dusty tomes in a forgotten library.
Funny enough, I later stumbled on a similar vibe in 'The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue', where time stretches endlessly for the heroine. Both books weave this theme of timeless yearning, but Rice’s version drips with more decadent despair. If you love quotes that ache, her entire 'Vampire Chronicles' series is a goldmine.