Quotes About Connection

Listen to me, Ria. It will be different when you and I have a home. It will be a real home, one that people will want to come running back to.

And he said nothing. Just put his arms around her more closely as the whole heart clinic and their friends and relations danced to the music of "Hey Jude".

We are real only in moments of kindness.

Love isn't a straight line. It's a roller coaster ride.

Somebody said, 'We are real only in moments of kindness.

Tony and Kimberley and had wanted to protect her,

Tell me and I'll forget. Show me and I'll probably not remember. Involve me and I'll understand.

She knew what the Barbour aftershave would make her think of, and of course it did with its forest violets and cinnamon bark.

She'd never had a best friend before meeting Holly, and now she couldn't imagine life without her.

Without missing a beat, Brad pulled her close and Kate found herself at eye level with his shirt pocket.

Mothers are the people who love us for no good reason. And those of us who are mothers know it's the most exquisite love of all.

Romantic lovers require from each other at least the facade of reason: We desire to be what romantic love makes us appear in the other's eyes. We want to imagine we are deserving of the love we inspire.

I think sex is very interesting for most people, but I'm interested in sex as a way of communication, I'm not that interested in the fantasy version of a sex scene.

When you least expect it, someone may actually listen to what you have to say.

Sighing, Brand did an act he thought never to do. He took a faerie, a goblin, and a sister and hugged them to his heart.

What I know: when I met you, a blue rush began. I want you to know, I no longer hold you responsible.

We don't get to choose what or whom we love, I want to say. We just don't get to choose.

To devote yourself to someone else's pussy can be a means of devoting yourself to your own.

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do. It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one's solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem. Can blue solve the problem, or can it at least keep me company within it? No, not exactly. It cannot love me that way; it has no arms. But sometimes I do feel its presence to be a sort of wink-- Here you are again, it says, and so am I.

I know we're still here, who knows for how long, ablaze with our care, its ongoing song.

We ought to say a feeling of and, a feeling of if, a feeling of but, and a feeling of by, quite as readily as we say a feeling of blue or a feeling of cold. We ought to, but we don't—or at least, we don't quite as readily. But the more you do, the more quickly you can recognize the feeling when it comes around again, and hopefully you won't need to stare as long.

This is the dysfunction talking. This is the disease talking. This is how much I miss you talking. This is the deepest blue, talking, talking, always talking to you.

This is how much I miss you talking. This is the deepest blue, talking, talking, always talking to you.

I don't ever want to make the mistake of needing him as much as or more than he needs me. But there's no denying that sometimes, when we sleep together in the dark cavern of the bottom bunk, his big brother thrashing around on top, the white noise machine grinding out its fake rain, the green digital clock announcing every hour, Iggy's small body holds mine.