Quotes About Separation

Mentally tease apart the threads that keep you connected to your mother. See that those threads, those feelings, that you experience with her are what find the two of you -- but they do not have to weave the tapestry of your entire life.

She watched the gap between ship and shore grow to a huge gulf. Perhaps this was a little like dying, the departed no longer visible to the others, yet both still existed, only in different worlds.

I'll be here," I said. I shuddered, perhaps from a draft. "I know," he said. And he left.

We live as in a walled garden now, walled by ourselves. We have been building this wall for some time, but now it's complete. That is new. And yet our surroundings remain as radiantly mysterious as ever.

She felt safer back here, separated from this man by four feet of shining wood.

And then he stood there, outside her apartment building, watching the lights go on in her apartment, angry and frustrated and dying to be up there with her, and wondering what on earth he was going to do now.

Don't let him take you from me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

I just... I just miss him. And hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.

By the way, I know about the kiss." Then the door clicks shut behind him.

The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us.

I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

There's no district 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took away all of that, and I'm on the verge of losing Gale as well. The glue of mutual needs that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away.

Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or i'll never go back to him. I'll die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me.

That even if they were separated by space, they were together in time.

I call him my friend, but in the last year it's seemed too casual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But of course, I don't want that. I don't want him in the arena where he'd be dead in a few days. I just... I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must.

I will never have a life with Gale even if I want to.

Then I am pushing through the crowd, just as I did before. Trying to shout out her name above the roar. I'm almost there, almost to the barricade when I think she hears me. Because just for a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. And that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.

Convince me, he says. He drops the napkin and retrieves his book. I don't watch him as he heads for the door, so I flinch when he whispers in my ear. By the way, I know about the kiss. Then the door clicks shut behind him.

I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.

Una última vez? ¿Para la audiencia? —me dice, no en tono enfadado, sino hueco, lo que es mucho peor. El chico del pan empieza a alejarse de mí. Lo cojo de la mano con fuerza, preparándome para las cámaras y temiendo el momento en que no me quede más remedio que dejarlo marchar.