Quotes About Connection

Things that matter are not easy. Feelings of happiness are easy. Happiness is not. Flirting is easy. Love is not. Saying you're friends is easy. Being friends is not.

misgivings , n . Last night, I got up the courage to ask you if you regretted us. "There are things I miss," you said. "But if I didn't have you, I'd miss more.

It doesn't have to be on Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn't have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn't have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third date. It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirit. It just has to be.

If you believe in coincidence, then you aren't paying attention.

Promise this — never to raise your hand against a living creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, without first recollecting its mother, who suffered for it.

But one of them has to do with the sense of, the sense of capturing, capturing what the world feels like to us, in the sort of way that I think that a reader can tell "Another sensibility like mine exists.

David thought books existed to stop you from feeling lonely.

Good Gad, Weaver. That look upon your face is one of inspiration. I hardly know you any longer.

God, send me anywhere, only go with me. Lay any burden on me, only sustain me. And sever any tie in my heart except the tie that binds my heart to Yours.

This generation can only reach this generation.

To perceive others as fully human means to be saddened by the death of every single person, regardless of the population, group, or part of the world from which he comes, and regardless of our own personal acquaintance with him. If we accord him identity, then we must individualize his death [and] … if we accord him community, then we must experience his death as a personal loss.

But at least this got Mouth thinking about how his loneliness wasn't unique. We all suffered. And I guess we all had good times too. Man - if every person who ever felt lonely killed himself, the world would be littered with corpses. And far lonelier.

Did Mom notice you right away?" He shook his head. "Nope." "So what did you do?" "Showed up." "Where?" "Wherever." "So you showed up wherever she was?" "Or wherever she might be." "That must've taken a lot of time," I said. Dad shrugged. "Worth it.

It's dark now. But they feel each others' breath. And they know all they need to know. They kiss. And they feel each others' tears on their cheeks. And if there had been anybody left to see them, then they would look like normal lovers, caressing each others' faces, bodies close together, eyes closed, oblivious to the world around them. Because that is how life goes on. Like that.

He not only wanted to talk; he half-believed that, if he talked to his dog as a person, in time London would come to understand. It's the way a child learns the language. All sorts of things are said to a baby; and all at once he knows what is being told him.

Words his soul danced to.

The planet, saved for another day, stokes up its slow-burning gases and toxic dust, gold rift and scarlet gash that take our breath away; a world at its interminable show of holy dying. And we go with it, the old gatherer and hunter. To its gaudy-day, though the contribution is small, adding our handsel of warm clay.

We respond to a drama to that extent to which it corresponds to our dream life.

God is closer to us than water is to a fish.

What you make happen for others, God will make happen for you.

God is always seeking you. Every sunset. Every clear blue sky. Each ocean wave. The starry hosts of night. He blankets each new day with the invitation, 'I am here.'

When we pray we speak to God; but when we read, God speaks to us.

God breathes through us so completely...So gently we hardly feel it...yet it is our everything.

We serve a God who is waiting to hear from you, and He can't wait to respond.