Quotes About Connection

Eat of my deep earth, drink of my living streams, for I am your Mother. Your heart is my wild drum, your breath my eternal song. If you would live, dance with me!

I saw that in him she had found her sun and moon, her stars and her dreams.

I told you once," said Red, "that I wanted to hear your voice. I did not think the first words I would hear would be these." "Those were not the first words," I whispered, fighting tears. I would not weep.

His touch warmed my whole body. I was longing to throw my arms around him and hold him close, but the magic of this moment was like a single, lovely strand of cobweb, fragile and delicate. One wrong move and it would snap beyond mending.

There were those whose love spilled over into their every gesture, and so was shared by all who knew them. But they were rare folk indeed.

I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

Bran dissera, uma vez, que a confiança era um conceito sem qualquer significado. Mas, se não podíamos confiar, ficávamos sós, porque nem a amizade, nem a sociedade, nem a família, nem a aliança, podiam existir sem confiança. Sem ela ficávamos dispersos, à mercê dos quatro ventos, sem nada a que nos agarrarmos.

All the same, our eyes spoke of something good, something deep, something that could grow and flower if the world we lived in would allow it. Something too precious to put into words. Something I would not dare let out into the light of day, not yet.

My heart. Your heart.

His touch was like a bard's on his instrument, and it awakened a deep and mysterious music in my body.

it matters not if you are here, or there, for I see you before me every moment. I see you in the light on the water, in the swaying of the young trees in the spring wind. I see you in the shadows of the great oaks, I hear your voice in the cry of the owl at night. You are the blood in my veins, and the beating of my heart. You are my first waking thought, and my last sigh before sleeping. You are – you are bone of my bone, and breath of my breath.

Meanwhile, the great ash would rest where she lay, and mosses would creep over her trunk, and tiny creatures make their homes her dim hollows. Even in death she was a link in the great chain of the forest's being.

How could you live without human touch? Wasn't that the first thing you knew, when you came into the world and they laid you on your mother's belly? Her hand would come across and stroke your back, and cup your head, and she would smile through tears of exhaustion and wonderment. That touch of love would be the very first thing for you.

This was a familiar feeling, for there were many places in the great forest where you could drink in its energy, become one with its ancient heart. When you were in trouble, you could find your way in these places.

His heart and mine added a rhythm all their own. We turned and turned, and with every turning we breathed a little more quickly and held on a little more tightly, and when we came back to the place we started, we stopped dancing and stood with our arms around each other, holding on as if we would never let go, not if the sky fell and the whole world came to an end.

In time, your spirit will be with them again, perhaps in a great, spreading tree that shades the place where your grandchildren play. Maybe in a wide-winged eagle soaring aloft, watching as your dear one spreads her linen on the hawthorns to dry and looks suddenly to the sky, shading her eyes against the sunlight. You will be there, and they will know.

You can speak to me. Not without a name, at least. Grim. And you are her servant? At the expression on his face, I added, Brother? Husband? He narrowed his eyes at me. Traveled here with her. Fixed the place up for her. I look after her. That enough for you? After what seemed to me a carefully judged pause, he added, My lord?

We must touch the earth, we must look into the sky and feel the wind. Like pools in the same stream, we must meet and part and meet again. We belong to the flow of the lake and to the deep beating heart of the forest.

You know not, yet, the sort of love that strikes like a lightning bolt, that clutches hold of you by the heart, as irrevocably as death; that becomes the lodestar by which you steer the rest of your life . . . it is in the nature of your kin, to love this way.

He had always understood me better, without words. So I laid my hand on my heart, held it there for a moment, and then moved it over and touched my palm against his breast.

Porquê Sorcha? - disse ele. -Porquê ela para tanto sofrimento? Ela está inocente de qualquer maldade, incapaz de um pensamento mau. Porque há-de ela fazer este sacrifício por nós? - Porque é a mais forte - disse Conor simplesmente. - Porque dobra com o vento, mas não quebra. Sorcha é o fio que nos liga a todos. Sem ela somos como folhas ao vento, sopradas de um lado para o outro.

Your kind have forgotten the old ways," says Eirne. "You have forgotten the importance of the tales, the wisdom of the past, the strength that rises from tree and stone and stream, the bond between one world and the other.

Not so easy. Give your heart to someone and you spend your life in fear of losing them. In terror of seeing them hurt.

Being friends, that's a big thing for some folk. One good friend can change your whole life.