Quotes About Connection

Two hungry people should never make friends. If they do, they eat each other up. It is the same with one person who is hungry and another who is full: they cannot be real, real friends because the hungry one will eat the full one. You understand?

The girl was lighter without her heart. She danced barefoot on the hot roads, and her feet were not cut by the glass or stones that studded her way. She spoke to the dead whenever they visited her. She tried to be kind, but they realised that they no longer had anything in common with her, and she realised it, too. So they went their separate ways.

I like to hear the marching of typewriter keys, the shudder of the space bar, the metallic ding at the end of a line. Those sounds are encouraging, sounds made by someone who is interested in you and in what you're saying, someone who understands exactly what you're getting at. "Hmm," the typewriter says. And "Mmmm. I-see-I-see-I-see." And sometimes it chuckles....

She told him that she had looked after him because of the white hairs on his forehead that grew into the shape of a star. Sometimes you see that someone is marked and you're helpless after that - you love.

His voice in my ear. It did interesting things to me. It curved my back and parted my lips. I felt lazy and feline, and he wasn't even in the room.

But also . . . I have plenty of people around me to talk to, and no one to be honest with.

what they'd been afraid of was running out of self. On the contrary the more they loved the more there was to love.

You feel you've seen a hundred of me. You know how my tiny mind works. But maybe it goes both ways.

I am here, reading with you. I am reading this over your shoulder. I make your home home, I'm the Braille on your wallpaper that only your fingers can read—I tell you where you are. Don't turn to look at me. I am only tangible when you don't look.

I drew a chair up beside her and sang. All I do is dream of you the whole night through . . . It was a horrible rendition, and I quite enjoyed attempting it, setting the notes free from the song as each one went farther and farther astray.

How can you know me and want to die?

I'd have liked for him to say my name again, though. You know how it is when someone says your name really well, like it means something that makes the world a better place.

Marriage is no real excuse for not loving.

Do you think that maybe we're able to love someone best when that person doesn't know how we feel?

I was learning the ways of the world; one of them being that the presence of a certain type of curly-haired man - your type - will cause you to fidget and fidget until the only way to reach some level of calm is to touch him.

For my Mr. Fox (whoever you are)

She retained the opinions of trees: one of them being that it was best not to have anything to do with human folk. "Firstly, they cut us down," Rowan said. "Secondly they're all insane, though I suppose they can't help that, being rooted in water instead of earth.

He was drinking Harriet's favourite, cold tea... not iced tea, but hot tea that had cooled. They liked him so much. They liked the way he talked when he talked and they liked his quiet when he was quiet.

We're friendly toward strangers because of a general belief (I don't know where it comes from) that we're born strangers and that the memory of how that feels never really leaves us.

According to Stendhal it takes about a year and a month to fall in love, all being well.

His dear face - his thrice-broken nose, his summer eyes.

But Jess was sliding breathlessly down into the waiting sky, so she couldn't find the words to tell TillyTilly that sisters was something about being held without hands, and the skin-flinch of seeing and simultaneously being seen.

All through dinner Arturo and I held hands under the table like a couple of kids, and that made the dinner quite wonderful, even though Mrs. Fletcher kept staring at Olivia as though committing her to memory. It got so bad that Olivia turned to her husband and said: "Has it happened at last, Gerald? Have I become a curiosity?

I hate that my life is teaching me that I can only be loved if I put my love out of reach and just drift above people until they love my remoteness.