Quotes About Separation

Don't leave me." "I'm not, Mac." "You're leaving me, Rainbow Girl.

You're leaving me, Rainbow Girl.

There is a rustle of dead leaves. Dried sap, a branch crack, the whirring teeth of Mr. Omaru's saw. My father--my real father--is a limb that got axed off the family tree a long time ago now. My mother coughs and cleans phantom juices off her silver with a cloth doily. My sisters clench their knives.

How true can this sensation of unity really be if you need to leave everyone you care about to get it.

If Sawtooth could put words to the brambled knot forming in his throat, he would tell her: Girl, don't go. I am marooned in this place without you. What I feel for you is more than love. It's stronger, peninsular. You connect me to the Mainland. You are my leg of land over dark water.

over the smooth lip of the china cup, I thought of how someone's loss had become my gain, of how the tide would roll in and out again as if nothing had changed, and how sometimes the separation between endings and beginnings is so

I never thought my actions would cause you to leave. I'm so sorry." I closed my eyes briefly. "It's not what made me leave, Daddy. But it's one of the things that made it easy to stay away.

She and Harriet Warner were worlds apart not only in looks, but also their place on earth–a monarch butterfly and a luna moth. Each had been dropped into lives that were polar opposites, traveling along different longitudes lines destined never to intersect.

Truth and reality split apart.

If money is the bond binding me to human life, binding society to me, connecting me with nature and man, is not money the bond of all bonds ? Can it not dissolve and bind all ties? Is it not, therefore, also the universal agent of separation ?

Grace tears you away in spite of yourself. You cannot do anything for or against it. It doesn't know you. It is absolutely merciless, ready to devour. The infinite is always present but only when this armour, this idea of separation, weakens, does Grace seize you. Most people experience the dark night of the soul as a deep depression, a total void of all sense, all ideas. In this emptiness of meaning and purpose the person is eradicated. This is Grace.

Hope dies last! The idea of "me" comes from the hope to know oneself and when this hope disappears the "me" vanishes. Without hope, no "me". Jesus calls this "the dark night of the soul", when all hope disappears, all meaning, all purpose, when you become aware that the world cannot make you happy. Then a holocaust, which is the awareness of this, eradicates this idea of separation. And only this awareness is the Grace, which cannot be reached by anyone.

We ruined each other by being together. We destroyed each other's dreams.

She missed him the days when some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun when it was shining.

But, reader, there is no comfort in the word "farewell," even if you say it in French. "Farewell" is a word that,in any language, is full of sorrow. It is a word that promises absolutely nothing.

She paced her room all day, tossed sleeplessly in her bed all night. At dusk, she sat in her window and poured all her longing and desire into her songs, hoping he would somehow hear her and return. And he did.

We were two sets of people inhabiting the same space, each set going about its affairs as if the other were not there.

Among all the wisdom and facts I learned from Giannon, I also learned the loneliness of incarnation, in which there is inevitably a separation of souls because of the uniqueness of our faces and our experiences. And I learned also the moments when the current of my life joins the current of another life, and I can glimpse for a moment the one flowing body of water we all compose.

I got so used to saying good-bye that when he disappeared for real I didn't notice.

In every friendship hearts grow and entwine themselves together, so that the two hearts seem to make only one heart with only a common thought. That is why separation is so painful; it is not so much two hearts separating, but one being torn asunder.

Perhaps we only imagine we deserve rhythms, once lived by rhythms, when all there ever was was moments. Separate. Distinct. Like beads on a string. Except that there is no string. Or the string has broken and the beads run about all over the floor.

If ever we two had a soul, let our soul —keep on walking and leave us behind.

Los rostros que yo amo, los míos, quedaron atrás, y mi alma los teje, los borda encima del mar

Nadie se divorcia impunemente de la belleza.