Quotes About Attachment

They wanted me to stay because they wanted me around: I was their direct link to Sam; I was his memento. And they were probably afraid that I might shoot myself, left alone with all Sam's things.

She was always threatening to move to be nearer to Rosie and the boys, but Wisconsin was- obviously, nonnegotiably, self-evidently-too cold. So she stayed in Pheonix and held the weather to her heart as a talisman, clutched to her breast against all counteroffers. But she came up for the summers. Pheonix's weather need not be clutched to the breast for June through September.

intricate motives, and complicated plots intimately. You live a book for weeks at a time, carrying it around in your bag, thinking about its characters like friends, worrying about their worries as your own. Not so short stories because as soon as you get to know the characters and voices and plots and complications, they're over. Resolved or unresolved, clear or still completely obfuscated, either way, there's nothing more . . . unless you're

Les dolía el corazón de amor y miedo

You have a fixation with time - clocks, years. What do they matter when there's love?

A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.

Play is also a way to be close and, even more important, a way to reconnect after the closeness has been severed. Chimpanzees like to tickle one another's palms, especially after they have had a fight. Thus, the second purpose of play serves our incredible - almost bottomless - need for attachment and affection and closeness.

this behavior is actually a sign of secure attachment. When they are with strangers or day-care providers, securely attached children "save up" their bad feelings for when they reunite with their primary attachment figure. (Gee, thanks!)

We should draft dogs," he said. "People would say, 'But I love my dog; I wouldn't send him to Vietnam. He might get killed.

In the history of the world, no one has ever washed a rented car.

I hate lending, or borrowing—if you want me to read a book, tell me about it, or buy me a copy outright. Your loaned edition sits in my house like a real grievance. And in lieu of lending books, I buy extra copies of those I want to give away, which gives me the added pleasure of buying books I love again and again." --Jonathan Lethem

I feel that my tendency to acquire books is rather like someone smoking two packs a day: it's a terrible vice that I wish I could shuck. I love my books, and with all their dog-ears and underlinings they are irreplaceable; but I sometimes wish they'd just vanish. ~ Claire Messud, author of The Emperor's Child.

If you listen to neurologists and psychiatrists, you'd never fall in love.

That's what everybody tells me. "I would've had a great comic-book collection, but my mother made me throw them away." But when I was growing up, my mother didn't care. As long as I was reading, she didn't care if my room was filled with comics. I could have saved everything. I was just too stupid to do it.

I have never not loved you any more than I have never not breathed. They're one and the same for me.

What happens in a certain place can stain your feelings for that location, just as ink can stain a white sheet. You can wash it, and wash it, and still never forget what has transpired - a word which here means 'happened, and made everybody sad'.

I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself.

As if he were reading her thoughts, Klaus put a hand on Violet's shoulder, and she smiled at him. Klaush had known for all his twelve years that his sister found a hand on her shoulder comforting- as long as the hand was attached to an arm, of course.

For Beatrice- No one could extinguish my love, or your house.

Klaus had known for all twelve of his years that his older sister found a hand on her shoulder comforting—as long as the hand was attached to an arm, of course.

Why do these people love you, Archer? Is it simply because you show little or no response to their affection?

I'll never stop loving you. I don't know how and I don't want to.

He looked at her as a man looks at a faded flower he has gathered, with difficulty recognizing in it the beauty for which he picked and ruined it. And in spite of this he felt that then, when his love was stronger, he could, if he had greatly wished it, have torn that love out of his heart; but now when as at that moment it seemed to him he felt no love for her, he knew that what bound him to her could not be broken.

There are as many kinds of love, as there are hearts