Quotes About Connection

czy ty kocha?a? ich Caddy czy? ty ich kocha?a kiedy mnie dotykali umiera?am

guilt to motherhood is like grapes to wine

Loving is upsetting. That's the point of it.

On marriage: You sort of stumble along and reconnect and lose each other and reconnect again.

his hands. "Just tell me what

Here's to those who have seen us at our best, and seen us at our worst, and can't tell the difference!

Sawyer, darling, I've

neighbors saw you get out of the car. And you

we are all flawed, fragile, cast-off china, collecting dust in the antique store that is life. The trick is finding someone who sees our worth despite the tiny, hairline cracks.

He loved her. Had loved her the minute he set eyes on her. Had he been waiting for her to give him a sign, a clue, that she felt the same way. She'd told him that she loved his eyes, his smile, that she felt safe with him. Wasn't the man supposed to make the first move? But they were of different faiths. How could he expect her to know or understand what he was thinking if he didn't tell her? The playing field had to be level; only then did the game start.

We, Andrew. You and

If you want, I can be on the next plane out of here and be there by morning." "No, that isn't necessary. Talking

She wasn't his mother, but she was his Mom, and that was far more important.

I suppose no one truly admits the existence of another person.

Se casaron con amor, más que por amor.

Quien no ha tenido nunca un perro no sabe lo que es querer y ser querido» La frase es de Arthur Schopenhauer. Es una chorrada, pero es bonita.

And I have the others in me. Even when I'm far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I'm all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.

Have you ever considered, beloved other, how invisible we are to each other? We look at each other without seeing. We listen to each other and hear only a voice inside out self. The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe OUR meanings of other people's words.

Amo como ama o amor. Não conheço nenhuma outra razão para amar senão amar. Que queres que te diga, além de que te amo, se o que quero dizer-te é que te amo?

I feel closer ties and more intimate bonds with certain characters in books, with certain images I've seen in engravings, than with many supposedly real people, with that metaphysical absurdity known as "flesh and blood." In fact "flesh and blood" describes them very well: they resemble cuts of meat laid out on the butcher's marble slab, dead creatures bleeding as though still alive, the sirloin steaks and cutlets of Fate.

Tenho amigos para saber quem eu sou.

Everything that happens where we live happens in us. Everything that ceases in what we see ceases in us. Everything that has been, if we saw it when it was, was taken from us when it went away.

Everything that surrounds us becomes part of us, it seeps into us with every experience of the flesh and of life and, like the web of a great Spider, binds us subtly to what is near, ensnares us in a fragile cradle of slow death, where we lie rocking in the wind.

To possess something is to lose it. To feel something without possessing it is to keep it, because in that way one extracts its essence.