Quotes About Connection

To love and be loved is the very thing our souls scream for from birth and every moment after, the urge to need and be needed as natural as breathing, as life-giving as breath.

It's hard to feel like much is wrong in the world when you're looking into the eyes of a happy baby.

If Satan has toeholds that allow him to claw and climb from the underworld to this one, they lie in our failure to see ourselves in others.

What the mind don't 'member, the heart still know. Love, the strongest thang of all.

It's those little nicks and dents and imperfections of spirit that allow us to flow out into a thirsty world. It's our scars that allow us to relate to the scars of others, our suffering that connects us to others who suffer.

There was no other place I loved so well as this one." "Me as well,"... For all the places I've loved, there have been none like this. This place is a deeper love, a sisterhood of water and sand and soul. A place where you fill me through my eyes and my ears, Father.

Sometimes we cannot raise our chins and see eye to eye, so we must bow our heads and have faith in one another.

Lot of stories. Sad thing when stories die for the lack of listenin' ears.

The train scoots along in a slow, lazy sway, like a mama rocking her baby, too lost in the look of her child to think of the day's work done or the hard row ahead.

The sweetness of his longing dives to a tender, bruised place in me.

Ever'body got story. Ever'body got a reason for what they do. You eat off somebody else's plate, drink a their cup, could be, you'd be the same way.

There will always be those memories that tie us together, those invisible strings. The careless stitches of mother and daughter. Suddenly

She bear-hugged me in a way that performed some sort of chiropractic miracle, because when she set me down, the tightness in my back was gone and I was an inch taller.

I never thought to ask her name, Father, but you know the little mulberry girl as you know each sparrow of the field. You are the white berry that removes the stain.

To my grandmothers, for tilling the soil in which we grew and for watering our roots with stories of all the old things

Kay," I whispered, and I wondered why sometimes the people you wish you could understand the most are the ones you can't understand at all.

Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand.

Find the beautiful things, little brother. Every time you mourn for me, I'll be far away. But when you celebrate, I'll be right there with you, dancing.

Stories provide a rare chance to temporarily suspend being in your own body, in your own life, and to slip into the very existence of another person.

No matter who else passed through my life, no one would take the place of my brother. He would always be the only one with whom I shared the quiet beginnings of life, the awkwardness of growing up, the secret hiding places of childhood, the early hours of Christmas mornings waiting for Santa Claus, the arguments over space in the backseat of a car, the walk to school on the first day, and the rough times after things didn't go so well.

It's when you're honest about them that you find the people who will love you in spite of your nicks and dents. Perhaps even because of them. The people who don't? Those people aren't the ones for you.

Maybe these are woodpile relatives? People my grandmother doesn't want to acknowledge as part of the family tree? Every clan must have a few of those.

People don't come into our lives by accident.

Families aren't dictated by geography, or biology, or the chemistry of chromosomes and DNA. There is, in fact, no perfect science to it at all.