Quotes About Attachment

One cannot love dust. One might as well put the hook in one's heart oneself.

He knew every inch of the thing's surface by now, had bloodied his fingertips with worrying at it, with picking at the spikes of the mouthpiece and exploring the curve and cheeks. It weighed as much as a small child in his arms, resting against his knees, and holding it close to his breast was the only thing that silenced the savage pain in his brands any more.

We can't help putting down roots. The best we can do is lie to ourselves about it.

I loved him. I love you. After a fashion.

My love is not water in a bucket, you know. It's not as if someone else can drink it all up and leave none for you.

I try not to glow too much at the praise of Gabe. I'm somewhat attached to him.

She could not bear to feel England's earth and cobblestones under her shoes again, she thought. And if she could bear that, then she might never bear to leave.

Romantic feelings were so tiresome. And so inappropriate, when dealing with a patient, but human beings are programmed to get attached to those we caretake, or those who take care of us.

Muire really needed to stop taking in candle-flicker strays. She tried, Light knew: she held herself aloof, didn't place calls, avoided social engagements. Sh didn't take lovers. She didn't need friends. She especially didn't need friends who would inevitably break her heart with their fragility, their evanescence, the shadow-quick passing of their mortal lives.

was so attached to the problem that I wasn't giving any energy or attention to the solution.

There is love in holding, and there is love in letting go.

Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again.

Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. One's relation to them, the daily seeing or touching, begins to become love, and to lay one open to pain.

People in love, in whom every sense is open, cannot beat off the influence of a place.

Being a blesséd writer is a cursed attribute, when you wish to no longer be encompassed by someone and yet you are surrounded by loose leaf papers filled with the sound of his voice.

in cate feluri te iubesc pe tine?

know we argued—at times I hated him—but I loved him too, and he was always there. Now there is a hole and I cannot bear to look at it, yet neither can I bear to cover it with earth.

having something that meant everything was a double-edged sword. It meant you had so much more to lose. ***

Cuanto más amas, más te lastima. Lo que es peor, lo lastimas a él así como a ti misma.

Limerence is an obsessive, unrequited love. It is actually a disorder. A disease if you will.

It's very easy to get a boy to leave the room. It's much harder to get him to leave your thoughts.

From that first moment, in a way she could never explain, the Meadows claimed her and made her their own.

A man's first loyalty is to the soil he stands on.

She had known then that there were things one was more afraid of being without with ease than possessing with pain.