Quotes About Connection

And the feeling I had was not of wanting her so much as being surrounded by her, blundering inside her life without having moved.

You call them friends, Hannah," Mom lashes out, confronting me from the doorway with hands on hips. "But your connection to them is situational. Years from now you'll look back and marvel at what you could have seen in most of these people.

This is it," I sob, clinging to Angel and Liz, their warm shoulders. I hear them crying, too, and think, It will be like this always. From now on, nothing can divide us.

It's the weird and terrible way of this place that a little thing, a hand on a head, can matter so much.

Here we've been thinking we had nothing in common beyond where we happen to be, and all this time we've been doing the same thing: picking up ghosts.

After my parents died, it took me months before I could carry on a conversation with someone who had not known them, who expected me to be young and sparkling and untouched by grief.

My point is, screw the machines. Throw them away. Put some faith in that brain of yours. My brain can't make a phone call. Sure it can. You can talk to anyone you want.

We are most reluctant to hurt those who remind us of ourselves.

I feel Angel warm beside me and think how I'll never love anyone this much, how without her I would disappear.

San Francisco is ours, we've signed our name on it a hundred times: SISTERS OF THE MOON.

And Moose heard her happiness then—Oh, the joy that came of dispensing happiness to others, of entering happiness's interlocking circuitry!

I take hold of Lulu's hand and she squeezes my hand back and I whisper very softly close to her ear Lulu let's be secret friends and no one will know except us and she whispers back very softly Friends Without Borders and we squeeze our hands hard and that is our promise. And I wonder if I might be in love with Lulu instead of Chris, or maybe I love them both which seems possible on a pier in the Muskaheegee River but nowhere else.

Ellen and I were neutralized by our disunion to the same degree that we'd been empowered by our accord.

Agnes felt her daughter's impatience that she go, and it made her want to cleave, as if holding Anna would somehow awaken in her daughter the need to be held. Agnes clasped her fiercely, trying through sheer force to open the folded part of Anna, so deeply recessed.

He sensed between them an understanding too deep to articulate: the unspeakable knowledge that everything is lost.

You call them friends, Hannah," Mom lashes out, confronting me from the doorway with hands on hips. "But your connection to them is situational. Years from now you'll look back and marvel at what you could have seen in most of these people." "You're probably right," I say, because Mom's predictions have turned out to be right a surprising number of times. "But in three weeks, when the party is, they'll still be our friends.

Then she gathered us into her arms and we held her, feeling the heat from under her skin, and we were the three-headed monster again, with its three yearning hearts. We held our mother as long as we could, and then longer, until she started to laugh. My beautiful grown-up daughters, she said.

Anna liked Bascombe, which was partly to say that she liked herself in his company.

When the balloons are out, as they often are, we raise our glasses at the sky before we drink.

He hugs her to him. When Charlie was little he did this all the time, but as she grows older it happens less. Her father is warm, almost hot, his heartbeat like someone banging on a heavy door.

In a mere twenty minutes, they'd blown past the desired point of meaningful-connection-through-shared-experience into the less appealing state of knowing-each-other-too-well.

Basic exchanges elongate like time-lapse fruits ripening and dropping into outstretched hands.

The sheer ordinariness of it all confounded Phoebe, as if any one of these things might happen several times a day, with no one watching. They belong to each other, she thought, and found herself awed by the notion -- knowing someone was there, just there, reaching for that person without a thought.

Even smiling, there's no hope for Marty's face. But I'm worried he might think the same of me, so I don't smile back.