Quotes About Connection

Be real and be unashamed, even of your faults. I do truly know what my husband is made of and vice versa.

Dialogue is not conversation. It is conversation's greatest hits.

Intimacy is being seen and known as the person you truly are.

There are people you always love, no matter what they have done to you, no matter what you have done to them.

We live and we love the world, Lillian thinks, and we kid ourselves that the world loves us back.

William snorts and wakes up, his hair wild and waving like silver palm fronds. He looks like he might have had a bad dream, and Clare smiles to comfort him. He looks at her as if he's never seen her, or never seen her like this, which isn't so;he's seen her a hundred times just like this, seated across from him deep in thought,flinging her legs over the arm of the chair to get comfortable. "Oh,here you are",he says.

I wish I'd thrown my arms around Gus's neck and kicked up my back foot or squealed his name or any of the things that a normal woman would do, seeing a man she was fond of, who she thought was dead.

We love the attentiveness of powerful people, because it's such a pleasant, gratifying surprise, but Eleanor was not a grand light shining briefly on the lucky little people. She reached for the soul of everyone who spoke to her, every day. She bowed her head toward yours, as if there was nothing but the time and necessary space for two people to briefly love each other.

He read the first one all the way through and breathed in the love, that hot, hurting feeling under your ribs...Love that made life matter even when you were just looking back at it.

Although I won't pretend our paths are likely to cross, I hope you know that I will be delighted if they do.

He says, I prepared some… and then he squeezes my hands tightly and he begins to cry. "I love you so much," he says. "That's all I can say. I love you so, so much and I will love you every day of my life.

I could feel him through a glass and I was banging on it, screaming at him: Why is there a glass between us? Where did it come from? Take it down! And Brian looked at me with puzzled, irritated concern and said, in effect, What glass? And, Please, please stop complaining about this thing that isn't even there.

This is not true, that nothing bad will happen, and therefore not comforting to me. It leaves me quite alone with reality, but the way he feels is exactly what I want for him.

We eat a couple of cookies in bed and I point out that there's been a change (not a bad thing but still…) in Rachel Maddow's lip gloss and he admires my keen eye and we brush the cookie crumbs onto the floor because no one is watching. I plump my pillow so vigorously, it knocks everything off my nightstand, and he laughs and says that I'm a danger to myself and others. Those moments are all I want. I want a life of this. He sighs and I sigh.

A blind man can see how much I love you

Removing your mask helps others remove theirs. Of course, this means acting as if you feel psychologically safe, even if you might not be fully there yet. Sometimes, you have to take an interpersonal risk to lower interpersonal risk.

overlapping"—like generations. My lifetime overlaps my grandmother's and hers overlaps the life of her grandmother, but I was born long after the death of both my great- and great-great-grandmothers. Such are the events of Universe; every experience overlaps some but not all other experiences.

As a Coptic priest in New York put it, "[H]umility is a mediator. It will always be the shortest distance between you and another person.

Before my dad died I saw the world as a place. By "place" I mean space. Fixed. Space did not move, but people moved in space. People and space could touch each other, but not very deeply. After he died, I saw that people and space are permeable to each other in a way that people and people are not. I saw that space is like water. People can go inside it.

After a while, it got too hard not to let him take my hand in the hallway, or snug up behind me at my locker, his chin balanced on the top of head as his hands snaked around my waist. After a while I wanted to share it, to show it off, to let the world see why I was smiling like a complete idiot half the time.

If I let myself, I would push into his touch like a cat,

faded blue flannel shirt, and he smelled so good, I kept lowering my head to his shoulder and breathing in the dark, rich scent hidden in the hollow of his throat.

Tiny, insignificant things that don't come close to the way he trusts me, or the way he listens to me, but put it all together and just the sight of him makes my heart ache with how much I want to keep this. How much I want to keep him.

Why go through something alone when there's someone you trust to be with you?