Quotes About Connection

We tell each other stories in order to live.

if someone "chose" you, what does that tell you? Doesn't it tell you that you were available to be "chosen"? Doesn't it tell you, in the end, that there are only two people in the world? The one who "chose" you? And the other who didn't?

Only the survivors of a death are truly left alone. The connections that made up their life--both the deep connections and the apparently (until they are broken) insignificant connections--have all vanished.

It is a good idea, then, to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what notebooks are all about.

At a point during the summer it occurred to me that I had no letters from John, not one. We had only rarely been far or long apart.

I remember thinking that I needed to discuss this with John.

Les gens qui ont perdu quelqu'un ont un air particulier, que seuls peut-être ceux qui l'ont décelé sur leur propre visage peuvent reconnaître. Je l'ai remarqué sur mon visage et je le remarque à présent sur d'autres. C'est un air d'extrême vulnérabilité, une nudité, une béance.

Why make this call and not just say what you wanted? His eyes. His blue eyes. His blue imperfect eyes.

People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness.

She didn't know the songs, I recall being told that a friend of a friend had said after an attempt to repeat the experience.

The easiest kind of relationship for me is with ten thousand people," she said. "The hardest is with one.

I never saw a wild thing / sorry for itself, D.H Lawrence wrote ... This may be what Lawrence (or we) would prefer to believe about wild things, but consider those dolphins who refuse to eat after the death of a mate. Consider those geese who search for the lost mate until they themselves become disoriented and die

What would I give to be able to discuss anything at all with John? What would I give to be able to say one small thing that made him happy? What would that small thing be? If I had said it in time would it have worked?

Manau der?t? bent jau linktel?ti žmon?ms, kuriais kadaise buvome,- ir nesvarbu, maloni mums j? draugija ar ne.

I thought about the way we danced, close.

I rekindle a waning argument with the telephone company.

Dear Joan, the letter begins, although the writer did not know me at all.

Kara Dukakis, one of the candidate's daughters, had at that moment emerged from the 737. "You'd have a beer with him?

Listen, she said as if by rote. I love you.

We love New York, the narrative promises, because it matches our energy level.

Marriage is memory, marriage is time

Nor does he understand that when we talk about sale-leasebacks and right-of-way condemnations we are talking in code about the things we like best, the yellow fields and the cottonwoods and the rivers rising and falling and the mountain roads closing when the heavy snow comes in. We miss each other's points, have another drink and regard the fire.

Maria has never understood friendship, conversation, the normal amenities of social exchange. Maria has difficulty talking to people with whom she is not sleeping.

Part of it is simply what looks right to the eye, sounds right to the ear. I am at home in the West. The hills of the coastal ranges look "right" to me, the particular flat expanse of the Central Valley comforts my eye. The place names have the ring of real places to me. I can pronounce the name of the rivers, and recognize the common trees and snakes. I am easy here in a way that I am not easy in other places.