Quotes About Embrace

I wanted this mortal companion precisely because I had put myself into the mortal world.

Maharet put her arm around Mekare's waist, and Mekare, come from brutal isolation I know not where, merely stared into space as though she knew some quiet peace but no more than that.

I could feel the attention as if it were an embrace.

When one is immortal, she had written, one does not claim the touch of another in a desperate way. One is not fearful of losing it and so one does not seek to contain or restrict or describe it in language that must fail.

Don't be so certain of anything. There are many experiences within the Shaktanis that I wish to share with you. You may read and absorb them at your leisure. But do absorb them, Ramses. Don't leap to rash conclusions. Don't diminish them into a hasty code of morals and laws for beings such as us. Let them embrace you so they may guide you.

He caught up with her outside her doorway, when she almost gave up. He said nothing, simply pulled her into his arms, against his strong, hard body, and his hand slid beneath her hair, tilting her face up to his. "No more running away?" His voice was rough. His eyes glittered down into hers, and if she wanted tenderness it wasn't there. Simply a dark, naked heat sparking between them. "No more running away," she said.

I don't love you," he said. And he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a kiss of passion and desperation, a kiss of deep currents and longing. "I don't love you," he said again. "Of course you don't," she murmured happily. And she followed him out the door, into the lion's den.

Taka reached over and put his hand on hers as the plane began to climb. She didn't look his way, didn't open her eyes, but her hand turned beneath his and caught his fingers, entwining them with hers. Until they were high in the sky over the Pacific and she fell asleep and her hand loosened in his. And still he held it. Until he, too, fell asleep.

He kissed the salty tears from her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. And then he kissed her mouth, slowly at first, tasting her pain and despair. Tasting her desire. He didn't know whether he turned her in his arms, or whether she shifted herself. He only knew she was astride him, facing him, her long legs wrapped around his hips, and the kissing had gone long past comfort.

But it has occurred to me, on occasion, that our memories of our loved ones might not be the point. Maybe the point is their memories—all that they take away with them.

She loved them so much that she felt a kind of hollowness on the inner surface of her arms whenever she looked at them-an ache of longing to pull them close and hold them tight against her.

apparently you grow to love whom you're handed.

She loved them so much that she felt a kind of hollowness on the inner surface of her arms whenever she looked at them- an ache of longing to pull them close and hold them tight against her." ? Anne Tyler, A Spool of Blue Thread

Make connections; let rip; and dance where you can.

Darcy closed her eyes. Their lips met, and she breathed in the scent of the sun-heated tar beneath them and the salt of Imogen's skin. She felt the rumble of the traffic below traveling up through the building and into her spine, her fingertips, her tongue.

It didn't matter where, really. What mattered was the connection, the space formed between the two of the, a slice cut from the universe and made private and inviolable.

Instead, she rose a little onto her toes and they kissed again.

I think we all have light and dark inside us.

He thought of the sands at Deauville and he felt weary, as though he had heard the first call of middle-age, inviting him to subside into comfortable self-mockery, recognise the embrace of defeat and to indulge his own – after all, only human – failings.

She was not spouting, but sewing the water with her body

A fundamentalist is a person who considers whether a fact is acceptable to his religion before he explores it. As opposed to a curious person who explores first then considers whether or not he wants to accept the ramifications. A curious person embraces the tension between his religion and something new, wrestles with it and through it, and then decides whether to embrace the new idea or reject it.

Life's too short to fight the forces of change. Life's too short to hate what you do all day. Life's way too short to make mediocre stuff.

There's a practice available to each of us—the practice of embracing the process of creation in service of better. The practice is not the means to the output, the practice is the output

Yes, you're an imposter. But you're an imposter acting in service of generosity, seeking to make things better. When we embrace imposter syndrome instead of working to make it disappear, we choose the productive way forward. The imposter is proof that we're innovating, leading, and creating.