Quotes About Attachment

Even sober, she'd rail against that: all the junk my father dragged home and left in the yard or the basement—old newspapers and magazines, toaster ovens picked out of the trash, hoses, sheets of plywood—all of it "perfectly good," all of it just what he needed.

Maybe ours wasn't the house I'd have chosen had I been in charge of things. It wasn't as clean as I'd have liked. From the outside, it wasn't remarkable. We had no view, but still it was the place I held in mind, and proudly, when I thought, Home.

Ah, but hame is where yer loved, lad

I fell in love with her for her sense of humour. If she ever lost her sense of humour, I would have to dump her. Then I'd kill myself because I couldn't live without her.

But the more people we love and the more deeply we love them, the more vulnerable we are to loss and grief and loneliness.

When we love someone, we're held hostage by fate, because if we lose that person, then we, too, are lost.

she understood as never before that home wasn't a place but rather a place in the heart. In this troubled world, everything was transient except what we could carry with us in our minds and hearts. Every home ceased to be a home sooner or later, but not with its demolition. It survived destruction as long as just one person who had loved it still lived. Home was the story of what happened there, not the story of where it happened.

Dogs might love a place, as people do, but the only place they love beyond all others is the place where you are.

All of life is an act of letting go but what hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.

What are we without the ones we love?

Motivul pentru care moartea se Å£ine atât de aproape de via?? nu e necesitatea biologic? - e invidia. ViaÅ£a este atât de frumoas?, încât moartea s-a îndr?gostit de ea, o dragoste geloas?, posesiv?, care apuc? tot ce poate.

He could not call up the faces of his own mother and father, who had died three or four years before. He would look at a picture, and there they would be. Perhaps people were progressively harder to paint in the mind as they near one, loved by one. Perhaps clear memories came easily in proportion as they were ugly.

Do you think it's right to not say goodbye to the man you yourself said was on the very first page of your very first volume of your diary? This is the very last page of his.

Love is my only lifeline.

Nothing is so strange when one is in love.

He could not call up the faces of his own mother and father, who had died three or four years before. He would look at a picture, and there they would be. Perhaps people were progressively harder to paint in the mind as they were near one, loved by one. Perhaps clear memories came easily in proportion as they were ugly.

And what will you do now? You'll collect loves Like stamps. You've got doubles and no one Will trade you and you have the damaged ones.

I saw that nothing was permanent. You don't want to possess anything that is dear to you because you might lose it

The object of the passion is just an accessory to the passion itself.

A truth was being revealed to me: that I had always tried to attach myself to the light of other people, that I had never had any light of my own. I experienced myself as a kind of shadow.

He did not consider if or how or why he loved them. They were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away.

American houses...' she said, peering over her right shoulder and down the street. 'They always seem to believe that nobody ever loses anything, has lost anything. I find that very sad. Do you know what I mean?

because America is the kind of bitch who turns anyone who truly cares about Her into a crazy person.

She loves to make a fuss, but she is rarely very attached to the fuss she makes.