Quotes About Attachment

If you love something/Set it free/If it loves you/It will come back to you/ If it doesn't--hunt it down and kill it.

Well, my relationship to America at the time I left was very limited.

If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.

Being with her I feel a pain, like a frozen knife stuck in my chest. An awful pain, but the funny thing is I'm thankful for it. It's like that frozen pain and my very existence are one. The pain is an anchor, mooring me here.

No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.

I am thinking about how it feels to be a no one in the life of someone you love.

Your partner may not look like your parents, and on the surface they may not act like your parents. But you will end up feeling the same feelings you had as a child when you were with your parents. This includes the sense of belonging and the love you felt. But it also includes the experience and upset of not getting all your needs met.

Is this who I married?! Something is terribly wrong. Let us reassure you, nothing has gone wrong. Romantic Love is just the first stage of couplehood. It's supposed to fade. Romantic Love is the powerful force that draws you to someone who has the positive and negative qualities of your parents or caregiver (this includes anyone responsible for your care as a child, for example: a parent, older sibling, grandparent, or babysitters.).

Ironically, for reasons we will explore in later chapters, fusers (who experienced neglectful caretaking) and isolators (who experienced intrusive parenting) tend to grow up and marry each other, thus beginning an infuriating game of push and pull that leaves neither partner satisfied.

From our view, these scars are very active in adult intimate relationships and show up constantly when a partner turns away or shows a still face when the other is trying to engage.

The art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.

The past is nothing and we are in love with it.

When someone disowns an idea or even a person, they give up faith in or love for something or someone they used to call their own.

Love is like the fire; its glow is devotion, its flame is wisdom, its smoke is attachment, and its ashes detachment. Flame rises from glow, so it is with wisdom, which rises from devotion. When love's fire produces its flame it illuminates the devotee's path in life like a torch, and all darkness vanishes.

The individual soul is a shoot that springs from the all-pervading Spirit, its goal being its origin; and every attachment it has on its way is, no doubt, a detaining on the journey. The soul is never fully satisfied so long as it has not reached its destination. The love of the external world is a rehearsal before the performance, which is the love of God, the Inner Being.

Love is a blessing, but it turns into a curse in attachment.

I sort of......accidentally....tore it to pieces. And threw it in the fire. Well, he was mine after all.

Sometimes you don't know you'll miss a place until you're gone.

I had also pled, the whole year, to be wholly relieved of my romantic attachment; begged to stop loving so much. But I had finally been given to see that my desire was what made me human; that desire was my glory and my cross; that desire had given me a window onto the divine that would sustain me all my life. I had seen at least one person as God must us-for where did my eyes come from but God? - and that is a rare and precious gift.

There's a Buddhist saying that when your house is done your life is over.

You are the comfort blanket of my eye when I hold you you are no longer afraid to die.

The foetus, expert at attachment, didn't dream that cramped canal would open into sound and light and love - it clung. It didn't care. The future looked like death to it, from there.

As children, we are profoundly loyal to our parents, and to their pain: I wanted to be related to my mom, not ruined by her

If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't, they never were. —Richard Bach