Quotes About Connection

I need to feel strongly, to love and admire, just as desperately as I need to breathe.

So that's why I'm such a big fan of storytelling. I think the most important thing is empathy. And it's less about 'those people'. Because I think we're all 'those people'.

We are called to assist the Earth to heal her wounds and in the process heal our own-indeed, to embrace the whole creation in all it's diversity, beauty, and wonder.

You said, 'I love you.' Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? 'I love you' is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them.

Yes, we are [friends] and I do like to pass the day with you in serious and inconsequential chatter. I wouldn't mind washing up beside you, dusting beside you, reading the back half of the paper while you read the front. We are friends and I would miss you, do miss you and think of you very often. I don't want to lose this happy space where I have found someone who is smart and easy and doesn't bother to check their diary when we arrange to meet.

I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.

I think now that being free is not being powerful or rich or well regarded or without obligation but being able to love. To love someone else enough to forget about yourself even for one moment is to be free.

To tell someone not to be emotional is to tell them to be dead.

In that house, you will find my heart. You must break in, Henri, and get it back for me.' Was she mad? We had been talking figuratively. Her heart was in her body like mine. I tried to explain this to her, but she took my hand and put it against her chest. Feel for yourself.

She was a monster, but she was my monster.

Explore me,' you said and I collected my ropes, flasks and maps, expecting to be back home soon. I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out. Sometimes I think I'm free, coughed up like Jonah from the whale, but then I turn a corner and recognise myself again. Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon's wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know.

You never give away your heart; you lend it from time to time. If it were not so how could we take it back without asking?

In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.

This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.

I cannot assume you will understand me. It is just as likely that as I invent what I want to say, you will invent what you want to hear. Some story we must have. Stray words on crumpled paper. A weak signal into the outer space of each other. The probability of seperate worlds meeting is very small. The lure is immense. We send starships. We fall in love

You said, 'I love you.' Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear?

To me, these days will never end. I am always there, in that room with her, or if not I, the imprint of myself - my fossil-love

Not much touches us, but we long to be touched. We lie awake at night willing the darkness to part and show us a vision.

Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you? In the fossil record of our existence, there is no trace of love. You cannot find it held in the earth's crust, waiting to be discovered. The long bones of our ancestors show nothing of their hearts.

This hole in my heart is in the shape of you. No one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?

Names are still magic; even Sharon, Karen, Darren, and Warren are magic to somebody somewhere. In fairy stories, naming is knowledge. When I know your name, I can call your name, and when I call your name, you'll come to me.

One day, tens of millions of years from now, someone will find me rusted into the mud of a world they have never seen, and when they crumble me between their fingers, it will be you they find.

Language is a finding-place not a hiding place.

Islands are metaphors of the heart, no matter what poet says otherwise.