Quotes About Connection

No creo que le haga más daño a una mujer por dormir con ella que por bailar con ella... o incluso por hablarle del tiempo. No es más que un intercambio de sensaciones en lugar de ideas, conque ¿por qué no?

DEMOCRACY OF TOUCH - instead of a democracy of pocket.

Instead of men kissing you, and touching you, they revealed their minds to you. It was great fun! But what cold minds!

I believe in being warm-hearted. I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. I believe if men could fuck with warm hearts, and the women take it warm-heartedly, everything would come all right. It's all this cold-hearted fucking that is death and idiocy.

It was only a friendship between man and woman, such as any civilized persons might have.

She lowered her eyes, and suddenly saw the fox. He was looking up at her. Her chin was pressed down, and his eyes were looking up. They met her eyes. And he knew her. She was spellbound — she knew he knew her. So he looked into her eyes, and her soul failed her. He knew her, he was not daunted.

That little, twitching, momentary clasp of acknowledgment that she gave him in her satisfaction, roused his pride unconquerable. They loved each other, and all was whole. She loved him, he had taken her, she was given to him. It was right. He was given to her, and they were one, complete.

But the passion of gratitude with which he received her into his soul, the extreme, unthinkable gladness of knowing himself living and fit to unite with her, he, who was so nearly dead, who was so near to being gone with the rest of his race down the slope of mechanical death, could never be understood by her.

Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor, insignificant, moist little penis.

Não podia. Hoje em dia os confins do mundo ficam a menos de cinco minutos de Charing Cross. Com o telégrafo sem fios, os confins da Terra não existem. Os reis de Daomé e os lamas do Tibete escutam Londres e Nova Iorque.

Oh - one would feel things instead of merely looking at them. I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become too visual - we can neither hear or feel nor understand, we can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.

It's cause and effect, Vernon

Obscenity only comes in when the mind despises and fears the body, and the body hates and resists the mind.

All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.

I am part of the sun as my eye is of me. That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea.

Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.

When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.

Oh, what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made personal, merely personal feeling. This is what is the matter with us: we are bleeding at the roots because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars. Love has become a grinning mockery because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the Tree of Life and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table.

My God, these folks don't know how to love -- that's why they love so easily.

And in this passion for understanding her soul lay close to his; she had him all to herself. But he must be made abstract first.

They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse.

Yes, I do believe in something. I believe in being warm-hearted. I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. I believe if men could fuck with warm hearts, and the women take it warm-heartedly, everything would come all right. It's all this cold-hearted fucking that is death and idiocy.

Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing for long years. And for this reason, some old things are lovely warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.

They stood together in a false intimacy, a nervous contact. And he was in love with her.