Quotes About Connection

That is what happens when the heart door opens- you become less yourself than part of everything.' Many are the sentinels who guard that door: our fears, our self-importance, our meanness, our greed, our bitterness, and others.

Love, like everything else, exists in a spectrum. Love of another, love of the world, love of God, all these loves are really one love in different degrees of light and density.

great poetry reaches down into the depths of our humanity and captures the very essence of our experience.

Through sacred things we can influence and be influenced by the transcendental.

But what can you do with another person's beauty? The satisfied lover is as little able to possess the beauty of his beloved as the one who hopelessly observes it from afar.

Thus began a long connection with the unofficial networks in Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary, through which I learned to see socialism in another way – not as a dream of idealists, but as a real system of government, imposed from above and maintained by force.

Metaphors make connections with are not contained in the fabric of reality but created by our own associative powers. The important question about a metaphor is not what property it stands for, but what experience it suggests.

If we base our love for our dog on the premise that he, like us, is a person, then we damage both him and ourselves. We damage him by making demands that no animal can fully understand – holding him to account in ways that make no sense to him. We will feel bound to keep him alive, as we keep each other alive, for the sake of a relation that, being personal, is also eternal.

I enjoy slaughtering beasts, he said, and I think of my relatives constantly.

What is the true father of a man? The circumstances which brought together the two bodies which begat him? Was it the fact that, for some reason, at one moment in time, these two pleased one another beyond any possible alternatives? If so, why? Was it the simple hunger of the flesh, or was it curiosity, or the will? Or was it something else? Pity? Loneliness? The desire to dominate? What feeling, or what thought was father to the body in which I first came into consciousness?

Two versions of the same face looking into blank screens, two very different minds thinking of things unsaid. Sometimes love is in silence.

Sve dok nisam došao do ?arobne rije?i. Amber. (...) Rije? bijaše nabijena strahovitom ?ežnjom i golemom nostalgijom. Imala je, zamotan u sebi, osje?aj zaboravljene ljepote, grandioznih dostignu?a i mo?i užasne i gotovo kona?ne. Nekako, ta je rije? pripadala mom rje?niku. I nekako, ja bijah dio nje, a ona dio mene. Bijaše to ime mjesta, znao sam, mjesta koje sam neko? poznavao. Ali nije izazivala nikakve slike, samo osje?aje.

things sort of equal to equal things sort of being equal to each other, it didn't much seem to matter.

I've been waiting for you since the beginning of Time, Corwin." "Must have been a bit tiresome.

No sense in looking for our differences when I had just met him.

I saw my face in your own. It was strange. I wanted to know you better.

For a moment, I felt that I saw something of pity and a strong love reflected there-and perhaps a touch of humor.

We were more alike than we were different, he and I.

How come whatever it was that just spoke has your voice?

On jest moim bratem. Ale to nie moja wina.

I bowed and blew her a kiss as I stepped forward into Amber, leaving her to clutch at rainbows as I caught hold of Random's shoulder and staggered.

I am not unmindful of your thought processes as you speak. I feel the pain in your side, twin to my own. Yes, I know these things and more.

Curious, he thought, how, if you knew a person long enough, he could elicit every kind of emotion from you, every possible reaction, envy, admiration, pity, irritation, fury, fondness, jealousy, love, disgust. But in the end all human beings became candidates for compassion, all of us, without exception...and if we could recognize this from the beginning, what a saving in pain and grief and misery.

Deeply moved, she poured the tea while they were finishing up. They came into the kitchen to replace the cleaning things, and she handed two cups to Om. Noticing the red rose borders, he started to point out her error, The pink one's for us, then stopped. Her face told him she was aware of it. What? she asked, taking the pink cup for herself, Is something wrong? Nothing, his voice caught . He turned away, hoping she did not see the film of water glaze his eyes.