Quotes About Connection

Friendship eased the heart and the mind, but there were times when the touch of arms around you healed an ache within that nothing else reached.

I wish you'd fall in love with me," she said. "Why?" "Because you're really someone worth falling in love with. And if we were in love, I wouldn't be drifting. I wouldn't be nobody. At least not while I was with you.

You have the thing all men and women strive for: the lover from whom you do not have to hide anything.

Words? I tell you not to write me letters; I command you. Is it not enough to want you so in vain, but you send me what evokes you here before me -- this paper, all along whose lines your hand has lain?

But in our anguish-darkened land, let us draw close, and clasp the hand; our whispered password holds assuagement -- the solemn "Yea, I understand!"

I enjoy the Web site a lot and I like being able to talk to my readers. I've always had a very close relationship with them.

Whatever will happen will happen, but choose your companions with care. Choose them because you like to look at them and you like the sound of their voices, and they have profound secrets in them that you wish to know. In other words, choose them because you love them. Otherwise you will not be able to bear their company for very long.

Didn't I say I'd always be your same stars? If you get to missing me, just look up.

Walter loves the sea, and I need it in some elemental way that I cannot even come close to verbalizing. I become dim and shriveled somehow at my very core if I am away from the sea too long. When I return to it I seem to fill up and overflow with it, soaking in the vast, sighing wetness of it like a parched vine in a long, soft spring rain.

At four that morning my son, Peter Williams Chambliss, slid into the world tiny and red and roaring with life and the awful love that caught and whirled me away when they laid him on my stomach was as strong and old as the earth and would, I knew dimly, abide as long.

Some tragedy is always implied when human beings can in no way communicate; what happened at King's is only a special example of it.

Leaving the page of the book carelessly open,something unsaid, the phone off the hookand the love, whatever it was, an infection.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

the man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate…

And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.

Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

How are you? How is your wonderful bathroom? How are the books you read and the things you think? Your dogs and their lives? The weather? Your feelings?

Somebody sees me, and I see myself through them. Then it's all gone, the whole world falls apart.

To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

I should be working and not writing you. But this is a missing you, where are you, hello and necessary for my soul.