Quotes About Connection

Close friendships with girls come early in life. After thirty it becomes harder to make new friends Ã¢â'¬â€ there are fewer hopes, dreams or anticipations to share.

Otto gave me a copy of the farewell letter Anne wrote to me in hiding. I was surprised because there were two letters: the second was a reply to a letter she pretended I had written to her. She wrote: "I am thinking so much of you," and "Let's always be good friends until I come back." She must have been very lonely.

When we were entirely alone in this lush green world, Morgan pulled me gently to him, tipped up my chin and kissed me on the lips. He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me . . .

It was such a relief to realize someone else had a weird vivid inner life like my own!

ALICE AND I are best friends. I've known her all my life. That is absolutely true.

his own crumpled handkerchief on me. I sniffed and dabbed at my eyes fiercely. I told myself I was only tearful because I was tired. I knew Diamond was looking at me anxiously.

Memories are links in a golden chain that bind us until we meet again.

Coincidence is a messenger sent by the truth." [Dr. Maurice Blanche]

This is what kindness does, Ms.Albert said. Each little thing we do goes out, like a ripple, into the world.

Y'all know how much I love you? "Infinity and back again," I say the way I've said it a million times. And then, daddy says to me, "go on and add a little bit more to that.

That's what makes best friends. It's not whether or not you live on the same block or go to the same school, but how you feel about each other in your hearts.

If you come as softly as the wind within the trees. You may hear what I hear. See what sorrow sees. If you come as lightly as threading dew, I will take you gladly, nor ask more of you.

Some people don't believe that you can meet a person and know that's the person for you for the rest of your life. I'm not going to try to argue with them on that. I know what I know.

And as we stood half circle in the bright school yard, we saw the lost and beautiful and hungry in each of us. We saw home.

In our yearbook, there is a picture of me and Miah - sitting in Central Park - Miah has his lips poked out and is about to kiss me on my cheek. And I'm looking straight into the camera laughing. Two and half years have passed, and still, this is how I remember us. This is how I will always remember us. And I know when I look at that picture, when I think back to those few months with Miah, that I did not miss the moment.

But I don't want to read faster or older or any way else that might make the story disappear too quickly from where it's settling inside my brain, slowly becoming a part of me. A story I will remember long after I've read it for the second, third, tenth, hundredth time.

Feels like I've known him since before he got to the world—longer than he knew himself, truthfully. Seems like we'd been friends really...Somewhere before life on earth...

What did it sound like...having someone call your name across a crowded school yard? How did it feel to turn to the sound of your name, to see some smiling face or waving hand and know it was for you and you alone?" —Staggerlee

I just shrug, not knowing what to say. How can I explain to anyone that stories are like air to me, I breathe them in and let them out over and over again.

Each person dying floats aside. Making room for the one that's coming. Perhaps they meet on their journey. Perhaps they wave as each heads on home

Maybe this was love—wanting someone with all the senses.

When we had finally become friends, when the four of us trusted each other enough to let the world surrounding us into our words, we whispered secrets. Pressed side by side by side, or sitting crossed legged in our newly tight circle. We opened our mouths and let the stories that had burned nearly to ash in our bellies finally live outside of us.

we don't know to be sad, the weight of our grandparents' love like a blanket with us beneath it, safe and warm.

The sign for believe flashed into my head—the way Sean signed it—his pointer finger against the side of his head like he's saying "think," then his hands coming together—like the sign for marry. I stood there thinking, for the first time, about how perfect that word was—to have a thought in your head and then to marry it, to take it into your heart forever . . . "I can't believe