Quotes About Connection

I brought Yoko to meet the Gorbachevs, who embraced her. Mikhail told Yoko how much he admired John's peace crusade and his music

When I told Yoko about my visit with Paul, she said something to the effect that I had fallen under his spell.

That morning I got a telegram from Bob Dylan—"Happy Birthday, Jann. How does it feel? Now you know. Bob.

BONO AND HIS family had moved around the corner from us on Central Park West. We could wave at each other from our terraces.

Done without love, any congress between man and woman degrades the creative intelligence that graces your humanity.

Some gifts of friendship cannot be earned. They exist, beyond price, and we cannot hope to match up to them.

I pity the man who can't cry.

Lysaer's knees buckled. Arithon caught him as he fell. Barriers abandoned, he locked both arms around his half-brother and threw himself at the bright, mercurial shimmer of the Gate.

Be a lover of the world, it is the only way to survive in it.

but receive much less social support from friendships

Stories keep memories alive and people real to us.

I NOW KNOW WHAT JOE MEANT WHEN HE ALWAYS SAID THAT HIS PARENTS WOULD'VE LOVED ME.

And as I touch your shoulder tonight this room has become the centre of the entire universe.

It made them feel, as all good books do, less alone.

making yourself understood to another person is essentially a problem of cryptology.

Nikola Tesla predicted in 1926 that "when wireless is perfectly applied the whole earth will be converted into a huge brain

I'd stand near the fires, looking at people's faces, just soaking up the presence of other human beings. It was never enough, but it was better than nothing.

An honest, engaging traveler inspires us to make our own journeys and helps us to see and understand new (to us) places. Good travel writing is about human connection.

I will never say no to viewing my friends' vacation photos, primarily because one of our tacit promises when we travel is that we'll bring back a good story—of our heightened state of living and the exaggerated adventures that befell us—and hope to let others live vicariously through it.

I don't believe in coincidences. Neither do I. That's a coincidence, isn't it?

Words are like leaves,. . .like people really, fond of their own society.

She had met the man who was now her husband. He was seven foot three, and she was six foot two and a quarter. It was a match made perhaps not in heaven but certainly nearer the ceiling.

I found Jane, too, or perhaps she found me. It doesn't really matter. We found each other. And although she was Grey and I was Red, we shared a common thirst for justice that transcended Chromatic politics. I loved her, and what's more, I was beginning to think that she loved me. After all, she did apologize before she pushed me into the leafless expanse below the spread of the yateveo, and she wouldn't have done that if she'd felt nothing.

Never underestimate the capacity for romance, no matter what the circumstances.