Quotes About Connection

He had written to her just before he sailed for America. The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved her. (That was the way his sentences always went: It is raining today and I love you. My cold is better and I love you. Say hello to Horse and I love you. Like that.)

Later, years later even, sometimes I might say, How about the duel on the cliff with Inigo and the man in black? and my father would gruff and grumble and get the book and lick his thumb, turning pages till the mighty battle began.

I love you, Buttercup said. I know this must come as something of a surprise, since all I've ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second more.

he could never quite figure out how he happened to sire his daughter, but he knew, deep down, that it must have been some kind of wonderful mistake, the nature of which he had no intention of investigating.

if we are going to meet God, we will meet God in the flesh.

Books let us into their souls and lay open to us the secrets of our own. [ The Sick Chamber ( The New Monthly Magazine , August 1830)]

We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.

The history of all love is writ with one pen.

I have one friend, a dog; yes, I would sooner have old Pepper than the rest of Creation together. He, at least understands me-and has sense enough to leave me alone when I am in my dark moods.

MARIE    (Not sounding exactly cheerful) Mrs. Delaney, I'm expecting a telegram this morning. Would you leave it on my dresser for me when it comes? LOLA Sure, honey. No bad news, I hope. MARIE Oh, no! It's from Bruce. LOLA    (MARIE'S boy friends are one of her liveliest interests) Oh, your boy friend in Cincinnati. Is he coming to see you?

Human beings are born into this little span of life of which the best thing is its friendships and intimacies … and yet they leave their friendships and intimacies with no cultivation, to grow as they will by the roadside, expecting them to keep by force of mere inertia.

All religions and spiritual traditions begin with the cry Help!

The community stagnates without the impulse of the individual; the impulse dies away without the sympathy of the community.

Why may we not be in the universe, as our dogs and cats are in our drawingrooms and libraries?

Our intelligence cannot wall itself up alive, like a pupa in a chrysalis. It must at any cost keep on speaking terms with the universe that engendered it.

We ought to say a feeling of and, a feeling of if, a feeling of but, and a feeling of by, quite as readily as we say a feeling of blue or a feeling of cold.

The supreme contemporary example of such an inability to feel evil is of course Walt Whitman. His favorite occupation, writes his disciple, Dr. Bucke seemed to be strolling or sauntering about outdoors by himself, looking at the grass, the trees, the flowers, the vistas of light, the varying aspects of the sky, and listening to the birds, the crickets, the tree frogs, and all the hundreds of natural sounds.

The art of remembering is the art of thinking and by adding, with Dr.Pick, that, when we wish to fix a new thing in either our own mind or a pupil's, our conscious effort should not be so much to impress and retain it as to connect it with something else already there. The connecting is the thinking; and if we attend clearly to the connection, the connected thing will certainly be likely to remain within recall.

Any object not interesting in itself may become interesting through becoming associated with an object in which an interest already exists. The two associated objects grow, as it were, together; the interesting portion sheds its quality over the whole; and thus things not interesting in their own right borrow an interest which becomes as real and as strong as that of any natively interesting thing.

Modern psychology, finding definite psycho-physical connections to hold good, assumes as a convenient hypothesis that the dependence of mental states upon bodily conditions must be thoroughgoing and complete.

The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.

I've come to understand that there's a good deal of value in the ritual accompanying death. It's hard to say good- bye and almost impossible to accomplish this alone and ritual is the railing we hold to, all of us together, that keeps us upright and connected until the worst is past.

Ask me, God's right here. In the dirt, the rain, the sky, the trees, the apples, the stars in the cottonwoods. In you and me, too. It's all connected and it's all God. Sure this is hard work, but it's good work because it's a part of what connects us to this land, Buck. This beautiful, tender land.

The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.