Quotes About Attachment

Jealousy is the tie that binds, and binds, and binds.

I was sad that Corpse Bride was so short. I would've liked to have had her around for way longer. She doesn't actually have that many scenes.

Según entienden ellos la cosa, compras un libro, lo lees, lo colocas en la estantería y jamás vuelves a abrirlo en toda tu vida, ¡PERO NUNCA LO TIRAS! ¡JAMÁS DE LOS JAMASES SI ESTÁ ENCUADERNADO EN TAPA DURA! Pero… ¿por qué no? Personalmente creo que no hay nada menos sacrosanto que un mal libro e incluso un libro mediocre.

Family is worth clinging to wherever one can find it.

You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you, and decide where they grow.

I had seen the struggle to love and make one's self understood, the refusal of two persons in conversation to give themselves to each other, the coming together of two lovers, the lovers with an infectious smile, who are lovers in name only, who bury themselves in kisses, who press wound to wound to cure themselves, between whom there is really no attachment, and who, in spite of their ecstasy deriving light from shadow, are strangers as much as the sun and the moon are strangers.

All lovers in the world are alike: they fall in love by chance; they see each other, and are attached to each other by the features of their faces; they illuminate each other by the fierce preference which is akin to madness; they assert the reality of illusions; and for a moment they change falsehood into truth.

I love you, but I love the past even more. I long for it, I long for it, I am consumed with longing for it. The past! I shall cry, I shall suffer because the past will never come back again.

we shall not dwell for the present on the effort to delve down to the depths of our being. If possible at all, it is exceptional: and it is on the surface, at the point where it inserts itself into the close-woven tissue of other exteriorised personalities, that our ego generally finds its point of attachment; its solidity lies in this solidarity.

Most affections are habits or duties we lack the courage to end.

Man loves most that which is his own.

j'ai aimé ma mère avec la rage d'en être haï.

Those whom we can love, we can hate to others we are indifferent.

No es difícil soltar nuestros derechos; finalmente, son cosas externas a nosotros, ligadas a nuestra relación con la sociedad. Lo difícil es soltarnos a nosotros mismos.

He Harris felt the loyalty we all feel to unhappiness -- the sense that that is where we really belong.

A man always remembers his first love with special tenderness, but after that he begins to bunch them.

Psychologists talk of the 'endowment effect' – that we are more concerned about losing things than gaining them. Once we own something, we are averse to losing it, even if we are offered something of greater value in exchange.

I am a patriot—of the 14th Ward Brooklyn, where I was raised. The rest of the United States doesn't exist for me, except as idea, or history, or literature.

Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold onto something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left so alone that you can't explain.

I don't want people to matter to me too much. Sometimes it hurts too much to think about them. Ones you love who don't love you, ones who are dead or hate you, ones who you think about but never get to be with. I like people but when I get too close, it fucks me up and I can't get things done.

It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted.

His mother called them his gems and often asked him why he liked things that were worn and old. It would have been hard to tell her. But there was something about the way in which the link of a chain was worn or the thread on a bolt or a castor-wheel that gave him a vague feeling of pain when he ran his fingers over them. They were like worn shoe-soles or very thin dimes. You never saw them wear, you only knew they were worn, obscurely aching

There is no friendship, no love, like that of the parent for the child.

The babe at first feeds upon the mother's bosom, but it is always on her heart.