Quotes About Relationships

One of the first rules of any marriage, (1) Don't forget the benefits of her (his) stupidity. (2) She (he) cannot be taught anything by you, so don't try.

The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive: we're wrong.

Puoi superare qualunque cosa, anche se la fiducia è stata tradita, se ti viene confessato. Allora diventate compagni di vita in un modo diverso, ma è sempre possibile rimanere compagni. Ma mentire... Mentire significa esercitare un meschino, spregevole controllo sull'altra persona. Significa permettere che l'altra persona agisca in base a informazioni incomplete. Lasciare, in altri termini, che si umili.

There are a hundred different ways to hold someone's hand. There are the ways you hold a child's hand, the ways you hold a friend's hand, the ways you hold an elderly parent's hand, the ways you hold the hands of the departing and of the dying and of the dead.

Limited men with limitless energy; men quick to be friendly and quick to be fed up; men for whom the most serious thing in life is to keep going despite everything. And we were their sons. It was our job to love them.

the love thrust upon the Swede seemed actually to deprive him of feeling.

Her ubiquity and his constipation, my mother flying in through the bedroom window, my father reading the evening paper with a suppository up his ass . . . these, Doctor, are the earliest impressions I have of my parents, of their attributes and secrets.

But he was in his fifties and there I always question how hard can they get. With a younger guy you know it's an easier thing. With an older one you don't know.

The second crazy wife. Was there any other kind?

You want monogamy outside marriage and adultery inside marriage.

As I look around on Sunday morning at the people populating the pews, I see the risk that God has assumed. For whatever reason, God now reveals himself in the world not through a pillar of smoke and fire, not even through the physical body of his Son in Galilee, but through the mongrel collection that comprises my local church and every other such gathering in God's name. (p. 68, Church: Why Bother?)

Ungrace does its work quietly and lethally, like a poisonous, undetectable gas. A father dies unforgiven. A mother who once carried a child in her own body does not speak to that child for half its life. The toxin steals on, from generation to generation.

I'm convinced that human beings instinctively seek two things. We long for meaning, a sense that our life somehow matters to the world around us. And we long for community, a sense of being loved.

Christianity is not a purely intellectual, internal faith. It can only be lived in community.

The presence of another caring person doubles the amount of pain a person can endure

Ungrace causes cracks to fissure open between mother and daughter, father and son, brother and sister, between scientists, and prisoners, and tribes, and races. Left alone, cracks widen, and for the resulting chasms of ungrace there is only one remedy: the frail rope-bridge of forgiveness.

El poder consigue todo, menos lo más importante: no puede controlar el amor.

Think of all the squabbles Adam and Eve must have had in the course of their nine hundred years," wrote Martin Luther. "Eve would say, 'You ate the apple,' and Adam would retort, 'You gave it to me.

Contrary to popular belief, love is actually a reflection of how much we 'honor' another person—for at its core genuine love is a decision, not a feeling.

At the end of her story she said simply, "As I look back, this is what matters. I have loved and been loved, and all the rest is just background music.

As Dorothy Day put it, "I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.

Those who suffer rest their security not on things, which often cannot be enjoyed and may soon be taken away, but rather on people.

He who cannot forgive another breaks the bridge over which he must pass himself. GEORGE HERBERT

We're all bastards but God loves us anyway.