Quotes About Connection

You live most intensely in human contact- and that's what we shrink from, poor timid creatures, from giving our souls to somebody to touch; for they, bungling fools, will generally paw it with dirty hands

La sociedad era horrible porque estaba loca. La sociedad civilizada es un despropósito. El dinero y el llamado amor son sus dos grandes manías; con el dinero muy a la cabeza. En su inconexa locura el individuo se identifica a sí mismo de esas dos formas: dinero y amor

Time went on. Whatever happened, nothing happened, because she was so beautifully out of contact.

His heart melted suddenly, like a drop of fire, and he put out his hand and laid his fingers on her knee. "You shouldn't cry," he said softly. But then she put her hands over her face and felt that really her heart was broken and nothing mattered anymore.

It was as if thousands and thousands of little roots and threads of consciousness in him and her had grown together into a tangled mass, till they could crowd no more, and the plant was dying.

Every man has made a ghastly fool of himself with a woman at some time or other.

I would like to have all the rest of the world disappear,' she said, `and live with you here.' `It won't disappear,' he said.

Her hand lay on the gate-post as she balanced. He put his own over it. His heart beat thickly. But did you - were you ever - did you give him a chance? Chance? - how? To come near you. Iw married him - and I was willing- They both strove to keep their voices steady. I believe he loves you, he said. It looks like it, she replied. He wanted to take his hand away, and could not. She saved him by removing her own.

But so many people... have only got their minds tacked on to their physical corpses.

He crouched down, and carefully put his finger through the thorns into the round door of the nest. It's almost as if you were feeling inside the live body of the bird, he said... After that, Miriam came to see it everyday. It seemed so close to her. Again, going down the hedge side with the girl, he noticed the celandines, scalloped slashes of gold, on the side of the ditch. I like them, he said, when their petals go flat back with the sunshine. They seem to be pressing themselves at the sun.

Why do I like this so? Always something in his breast shrank from these close, intimate dazzled looks of hers. Why do you? he asked. I don't know - it seems so true.

He gazed at the book in his hand, did not see it for some moments, thinking of her, then saw it again.

Come and see what books I found you, he said. She followed him implicitly. Books did not matter to her. But he insisted on her approving. She gazed over his arm, not seeing. But she touched him.

Don't talk any more, she pleaded softly, laying her hand on his forehead. He lay quite still, almost unable to move. His body was somewhere discarded. Why not - are you tired? Yes, and it wears you out. He laughed shortly, realising. Yet you always make me like it, he said.

I look at my hands, and wonder what they are doing there. That water there ripples right through me. I'm sure that I am that rippling. It runs right through me, and I through it. There are no barriers between us... A sort of disseminates consciousness, that's all there is of me. I feel as if my body were laying empty, as if I were in the other things - clouds and water-... the individual bodily me is discarded. But if so then I am not alive here. I'm sure it would destroy me.

you have never known either real tenderness or real sensuality: and if you do know them, with the same person, it makes a great difference.

He hid his face against her, who was warm and like sunlight. She seemed to have sunlight inside her. Her heart beating seemed like sunlight upon him

She felt different from the rest of them, with their hard, easy, shallow intimacy, that seemed to cost them so little.

She saw him slender and firm, as if the setting sun had given him to her. A deep pain took hold of her, and she knew she must love him.

We fucked a flame into being. Even the flowers are fucked into being between the sun and the earth.

Paul, walking alongside, laced his fingers in the strings of the bag Miriam was carrying... the meadow was bathed in a glory of sunshine, and the path was jewelled, and it was seldom that he gave her any sign. She held her fingers very still among the strings of the bag, his fingers touching.

He would not have it that they were lovers. The intimacy between them had been kept so abstract, such a matter of the soul, all thought and weary struggle into consciousness, that he saw it only as a Platonic friendship. He stoutly denied there was anything else between them. Miriam was silent, or else she very quietly agreed. He was a fool who did not know what was happening to himself.

Why don't men and women really like one another nowadays?' Connie asked Tommy Dukes, who was more or less her oracle.

There had come into his forehead a knitting of the brows which was becoming habitual with him, particularly when he was with Miriam. She longed to smooth it away, and she was afraid of it. It seemed the stamp of a man who was not her man in Paul Morel.