Quotes About Attachment

Então é isso: cada dia eu gosto de você de um jeito. E se a gente junta tudo que é jeito vê que gosta bem grande, vê que é amor.

Sabia que não ia voltar mas continuava pensando com tanta força. Como quando se tira um vestido velho do baú, um vestido que não é para usar, só para olhar. Só para ver como ele era. Depois a gente dobra de novo e guarda mas não se cogita em jogar fora ou dar. Acho que saudade é isso.

That's right, you're not from Texas. But Texas wants you anyways.

There are similar mutilations of many letters, especially Emily's early letters to Austin, written when he was in love with Sue, and letters to Sue filled with Emily's parallel, more entrancing ardour. All the mutilations are designed to obliterate the poet's attachment to 'Sister'.

is it better not to fall in love at all, or to love someone for a little while, even if you have to say good-bye?

She loved him, and her heart was breaking. If she had known how much it hurt to love someone, she never would have given away her heart. But it wasn't a question of giving as much as falling.

Childhood friends are continuity, uninterrupted connections between selves, and you hold on them. You hold on them and you love them, but sometimes they're not quite comfortable.

It seems to me those are just the ones who have to do without, because, in the final analysis, they can. And men basically want women who can't live without them.

His mother had often talked about the way certain books called you when you were really engrossed in them and to put them down.

She blamed moral vices that weakened the whole society and worried that Americans were heading in the same direction.... Thought that so much land was owned by so few people and that so many ordinary people could never hope to own their land seemed to her the most damning characteristic of the Old World. ... I do not regret that I made this excursion since it has only more attached me to America.

Giving with strings of secret expectations attached is the greatest invitation to heartbreak. That's not love. That's manipulation.

Giving with strings of secret expectations attached is the greatest invitation to heartbreak. That's not love. That's manipulation. And it's all so unrealistic.

The need to belong goes beyond the need for superficial social ties . . . it is a need for meaningful, profound bonding.

He who has loved often ... has loved never.

The dead are jealous, jealous, jealous and they will do anything to keep you from the living, the lucky living. They will argue with you, and distract you, and if that doesn't work, they will even let you hug them, and dance for you, and kiss you, and laugh, anything to keep you. The dead are selfish. Jealous. Lonely. Desperate. Hungry. ("The Chambered Fruit")

When people have no sense of self, relationships are just temporary distractions from the inner emptiness and fall apart at the first obstacle. My

o amor é uma chave que deve perder-se

Dac? î?i în?elegi orgoliul, acesta dispare în mod natural. Dac? î?i în?elegi nefericirea, aceasta dispare la rândul ei. Dac? î?i în?elegi temerile, acestea se evapor?. Dac? î?i în?elegi ata?amentele, acestea dispar, iar ceea ce r?mâne în final este libertatea.

Let this, then, be done in you; and suffer not yourself to be attached to anything, however good it may appear; it is no longer such to you, if it in any measure turns you aside from what God desires of you. For the divine will is preferable to every other good. Shake off, then, all self-interest, and live by faith and abandonment; here it is that genuine faith begins truly to operate.

At the bottom of all these tangled impressions she glimpsed a changed idea, another way of loving someone that she had not experienced before, an attachment like that to a brother, to a friend, to a lover who could never be her lover, of a musical soulmate, a companion who might have been a lifelong collaborator.

I almost did not come, because I did not want to leave it." He smiled. "Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere." The sun sank below Pelion's ridges, and we were happy.

A surety rose in me, lodged in my throat. I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.

At first it is strange. I am used to keeping him from her, to hoarding him for myself. But the memories well up like springwater, faster than I can hold them back. They do not come as words, but like dreams, rising as scent from the rain-wet earth. This, I say. This and this. The way his hair looked in summer sun. His face when he ran. His eyes, solemn as an owl at lessons. This and this and this. So many moments of happiness, crowding forward.

Me bastaba un simple roce o el olor para identificarle, y si me quedara ciego, podría reconocerle por el modo en que respiraba o en que pisaba el suelo. Le reconocería en el fin del mundo, incluso en la muerte.