Quotes About Connection

When your love for a person is so profound that it's part of who you are, then the absence of the person becomes part of your DNA, your bones, and your skin. Charlie's and Sylvie's deaths were

own parents had wanted to leave every room he was in.

rocks in your mother's garden, and that old man who sleeps by the train station. We're all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is.

She was Julia's wild hair, she was the lake her husband had once been carried out of, and no matter what happened next, she was love.

We're not separated from the world by our own edges." Charlie set down his beer glass, empty now, and rubbed his hand up and down his arm, as an example of one of his edges. "We're part of the sky, and the rocks in your mother's garden, and that old man who sleeps by the train station. We're all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is.

Lonely is a funny thing,' she said slowly. 'It's almost like another person. After a while, it'll keep you company if you'll let it

I know people not from here probably don't understand our feeling for these hills. Our love for land not spectacular. Our mountains are not like Western ones, those jagged awesome ones, your eyes always pulled to their tops. But that is the difference, I decided. In the West, the mountains are mostly horizon. We live in our mountains. It's not just the tops, but the sides that hold us.

Being alone in a marriage is worse than being alone.

Maybe Luke is right and love is immortal. Maybe it's the ultimate ripple effect. The ultimate butterfly's wing.

A strange kind of presentiment frequently, on this day, occurred to her;—it seemed as if her fate rested here, and was by some invisible means connected with this castle.

The sympathy expressed in the tone of his voice and manner, proved that his happiness, on this occasion, almost equalled her own.

There are different kinds of love, Sarah. I feel one kind of love for your father. A special kind. Another kind for Warren. And still a different kind for you children.' She smiled at me. 'Heaven rue the day we can't feel love for one another. I wouldn't want to live in such a world, would you?

Yet, in reality, Ted loved things more than he loved people. He could find life in an abandoned bicycle or an old car, and feel a kind of compassion for these inanimate objects, more compassion than he could ever feel for another human being.

The only clue I had was that my dog (who liked everyone) didn't like Ted at all. Whenever he bent over my desk at the Crisis Clinic, she growled and the hackles on her neck stood up. The lesson is clear: Pay attention to your dog!

On the surface, at least, it seemed that I had more problems than Ted did. He was one of those rare people who listen with full attention, who evince a genuine caring by their very stance. You could tell things to Ted that you might never tell anyone else.

pray for the grace to realize that no matter where you are, you are in the presence of the Lord.

Jesus's words about being present when two or more are gathered in his name should make us think twice about becoming spiritual Lone Rangers.

You see, Novelka, in an odd sort of way, some of our strongest relationships are with people who have died. We miss the person, we think of them, we wonder what they would want us to do, how they would want us to act. Though they are not here, they still strongly influence our lives. And so we go on loving them, sometimes even more, when they are gone.

If Gran, Da, and Gil were alive, they were alive inside her: when Da told her how to scythe, when Gran praised her for gathering herbs, when Gil said, "I like beginnings.

We are freed to free others. We are affirmed to affirm others. We are loved to love others.

meer schelden evenveel compassie

But then he touched the flowers With the dry tips of his fingers. "Tell me how men kiss you. Tell me how you kiss.

I don't long for anyone, But I don't want, don't want, don't want To know how they kiss each other.

And if I die, then who Will write my poems to you?