Quotes About Understanding

My mom and my stepdad are both therapists.

She loves him with a love that sees no flaws, find no fault, knows no bounds... Oh God, please don't let her hurt too badly and, please, never, never let me love like that.

When dealing with men, every woman is a consummate actress.

It is not the story I know or the story you tell me that matters; it is what I already know, what I don't want to hear you say. Let it exist this way, concealed; let me always be embarrassed, knowing that you know that I know but pretend not to know.

In order to be a better writer and better reader, I need to believe in my own death and in the death of others.

Everyone is alien. And even when you are in love with someone, even when you think you know them better than you know yourself; even when you think you know everything about them and they you, and you live in each other's souls. Even then you know nothing about them at all.

Now she knew that there were people -people everywhere- who cared about and loved books as much as she did.

Yes! Do you never listen?" "I never listen." "Okay, well, it's a good thing I don't talk much then, isn't it?

still believe reading is the best form of direct brain-to-brain communication humans have yet figured out

Reading is being in stuff." Ben squinted. "Like actually being there?" "Like actually being there. You plug straight into the writer's brain. It's just you and them. You experience what they experience.

sometimes she felt the world wasn't built for people like her. Confident, big-personality people like Surinder simply didn't understand. If you weren't an extrovert, if you weren't shoving yourself out into the open all the time, posting selfies everywhere, demanding attention, talking constantly, people just gazed right past you. You got overlooked. And normally she didn't mind.

They were a real community. Not a long terrace with a bunch of people who happened to be living next to each other. There was a difference, she just hasn't realized it before.

and I was selfish and wrong not to ask about your family before. I was told I should, but I didn't listen. It's my fault." Marek shrugged. "Was not your fault. Was my privilege.

It's just . . . you know. I've been cheated on in the past, and it was so hard. It hurt so much. And I thought I knew you so well, and I panicked. But you can't . . . you can't ever know another person. Not through and through. People have their reasons for things. And you can choose to love them for who they are, and, well, that's the deal. That's how it is.

I know," he said in a bewildered tone. "I know youse all think I'm an ancient fuddy-duddy from the dawn of time." "Why would we think that, Dad?" said Innes. "Just because you are an ancient fuddy-duddy from the dawn of time.

But sometimes she felt the world wasn't built for people like her. Confident, big-personality people like Surinder simply didn't understand. If you weren't an extrovert, if you weren't shoving yourself out into the open all the time, posting selfies everywhere, demanding attention, talking constantly, people just gazed right past you. You got overlooked. And normally she didn't mind.

don't know why they say love means never having to say you're sorry," said Polly suddenly. "I think it means having to say you're sorry A LOT.

How very strange that someone she had met so briefly, under such extraordinary circumstances, should turn out to be able to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling, and how. Or, rather, take what she was feeling and make her feel so very much better about it.

It had never occurred to her that other mothers, whatever their situations, might be feeling exactly the same way.

She realized suddenly that despite all the new exciting feelings - of autonomy of freedom - that she'd felt since she arrived, she'd been missing the simple familiarity that came with ... well, someone you understood, she supposed.

Books were the best way Nina knew – apart from, sometimes, music – to breach the barrier; to connect the internal universe with the external, the words acting merely as a conduit between the two worlds.

It was a very odd concept - that you could become friends with someone simply by examining their bookshelves - but nevertheless, Zoe believed it fervently.

Wie oft wohl muss einer das, was er weiß, noch einmal lernen, wieder und wieder entdecken, wie viele Verkleidungen abreißen, bis er Dinge wirklich versteht bis auf die Knochen? Reicht überhaupt eine Lebenszeit dafür aus?

How many times, he wonders, must a person relearn everything he knows, rediscovering it over and over, and how many coverings must be torn away before he's finally able to truly grasp things, to understand them to the bone? Is a human lifetime long enough? His lifetime, or anyone else's?