Quotes About Connection

It feels weird right at this moment to not be anybody's sidekick. Hard to explain, but when I look at the moon, it seems like it's paying attention to me, instead of me paying attention to it. It's way up there now. Hi, moon, I say silently to it. Yes, I'm high, it says back. The moon has a sense of humor.

She looked at him and smiled. She placed her hand upon his shoulder. He took her right hand in his left and placed his other at her waist, looking at her as if she were an unexploded bomb. They began to dance.

a sense, considering it on her children's

Fuck me, Gray. Make me forget my own name." He couldn't speak for her, but he certainly forgot his.

Grayson James, on the other hand,could give me a tongue-lashing of a different sort. A very welcome one.

I'm not that squeamish, Mr. Stone." "Ethan," he said. "I'm naked. I'm in a tub. You're wearing my nightshirt. You've already slept in my bed. I think you should call me Ethan.

On April 4, 1968, the same day that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed, her favorite aunt, Matilda Rudolph, died in Clarksville.

I stretch my fingers across my belly and glide my hand back and forth, waving softly. Sometimes I think I feel a hand reaching out for mine. Or it could be a foot, kicking my hand away. I wish I could tell the difference.

But then, as she looks at their unsuspecting, uninterested faces, she will start to think about what that really means. That just like there is more to her than what they see, there is more inside each one of them. What's your story? she will wonder as she scans the room from face to face. And this time, when she pleads with them to read between the lines, she will try to do the same.

She's the kind of person who looks at you when you're talking and asks you questions as if she really cares.

In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web's car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn't be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.

It makes me want to cry. Sometimes, when someone is nice to you for no reason but when you need it most, that happens.

How easily we part, adieu, how often I leave trails of myself in your wake.

If you love books enough, books will love you back.

Interlibrary loans are a wonder of the world and a glory of civilization.

I care more about the people in books than the people I see every day.

It's lovely when writers I like like each other.

Doing is doing. Does it mean that it doesn't matter if it's magic or not, anything you do has power and consequences and affects other people?

I knew what death meant now. It was conversations cut off.

I'm so glad I have my own copy. I can read them again and again. I can read them again and again on trains, all my life, and every time I do I'll remember today and it will connect up. (Is that magic?)

You don't want anything from them except for them to exist and you to see them sometimes and talk to them, and maybe for them to like you back.

Good," I said. "And we will do the same. But I miss him. I miss him like I miss Mother. Of course we'll honor their memory, and of course their souls have gone on to new lives, but I hadn't finished talking to them in this life." I knew what death meant now. It was conversations cut off.

One thing I have learned about grief," I said to her, "is that nothing anyone says to you is useful, but it can still be comforting sometimes to know you're not alone

What I want is much more complicated. I want somebody I can talk to about books, who would be my friend, and why couldn't we have sex as well if we wanted to? (And used contraception.)