Quotes About Connection

I suppose it is possible that one day we will meet again and it will feel as if nothing ever happened between us.

This is generous, for to be close to her pain has always felt like a privilege to me, even though pain could be defined as that which we typically aim to avoid.

She asks him quietly in the dark to tell her about the mother of everything and he did not know of whom she was speaking. She asked the volcano and the volcano belched great streams of wet ash. She lay her head down with fatigue and found her head on a pillow of ink. Upon waking she stretched her arms around the glob and found her fingers weren't even close to touching.

You've punctured my solitude, I told you.

Even identical genital acts mean very different things to different people. This is a crucial point to remember, and also a difficult one. It reminds us that there is difference right where we may be looking for, and expecting, communion.

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 my 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 knew you were a good animal, but felt myself to be standing before an enormous mountain, a lifetime of unwillingness to claim what I wanted, to ask for it. Now here you were, your face close to mine, waiting. The words I eventually found may have been Argo , but now I know: there's no substitute for saying them with one's own mouth.

For it isn't just moments of happiness, which is all I thought we got. It's happiness that spreads.

I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.

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

I felt the wild need for any or all of these people that night. Lying there alone, I began to feel - perhaps even to know - that I did not exist apart from their love and need of me. Of this latter I felt less sure, but it seemed possible, if the equation worked both ways. Falling asleep I thought, 'Maybe this, for me, is the hand of God.

218. As her witness, I can testify to no reason, no lesson. But I can say this: in watching her, sitting with her, helping her, weeping with her, touching her, and talking with her, I have seen the bright pith of her soul. I cannot tell you what it looks like, exactly, but I can say that I have seen it.

I want the you no one else can see, the you so close the third person never need apply.

I never aimed to give you a talisman, an empty vessel to flood with whatever longing, dread, or sorrow happened to be the day's mood. I wrote it because I had something to say to you.

How often I've imagined the bubble of body and breath you and I made, even though by now I can hardly remember what you look like, I can hardly see your face.

We were dancing the way people dance when they are telling each other how they want to make love.

I admit that I may have been lonely. I know that loneliness can produce bolts of hot pain, a pain which, if it stays hot enough for long enough, can begin to simulate, or to provoke -- take your pick -- an apprehension of the divine. (This ought to arouse our suspicions.)

I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have finding this hard to do. It 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.

How could all the shreds of blue garbage bags stuck in brambles, or the bright blue tarps flapping over every shanty and fish stand in the world be, in essence, the fingerprints of god? I will try to explain this.

And now, I think, we can say: a glass bead may flush the world with colour, but it alone makes no necklace. I wanted the necklace.

You must spend more time thinking about the divine.

My whole body struggled to summon any utterable phrase. I knew you were a good animal, but felt myself to be standing before an enormous mountain, a lifetime of unwillingness to claim what I wanted, to ask for it. Now here you were, your face close to mine, waiting.

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

10. The most I want to do is show you the end of my index finger. Its muteness.