Quotes About Connection

Grandmother Hannah comes to me at Pesach and when I am lighting the sabbath candles. The sweet wine in the cup has her breath.... a little winter no spring can melt.

Only in us do the dead live. Water flows downhill through us. The sun cools in our bones. We are joined with all living in one singing web of energy. In us live the dead who made us. In us live the children unborn. Breathing each other's air, drinking each other's water, eating each other's flesh, we grow like a tree from the earth.

We are not different nor alike But each strange in his leather body sealed in skin and reaching out clumsy hands and loving is an act that cannot outlive the open hand the open eye the door in the chest standing open.

Baby, tonight you're the reason I have lips.

So it goes when we need to couple. Sex makes idiots of us all. ~ From "Am I Pretty Enough

People danced a lot then. I miss that.

In the death of every creature we have loved, we taste our own.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love like oxygen or she turns blue choking. A strong woman is a woman who loves strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong in words, in action, in connection, in feeling; she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

i find it easy to admire in trees what depresses me in people

It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover.

I said, I like my life. If I have to give it back, if they take it from me, let me not feel I wasted any, let me not feel I forgot to love anyone I meant to love, that I forgot to give what I held in my hands, that I forgot to do some little piece of the work that wanted to come through.

I love you. I really do. As I am now, with these last five years behind me, I am a person who is quite terribly in love with you and will always be – or so I think now, today, in this taxi.

George Abbershaw's prosaic mind quivered on the verge of poetry when he looked at her.

So the letters took a long time to get there, and the replies even longer to get back, and all the news was out of date; and this gave his correspondence a peculiar timeless quality which was very soothing.

Her last glimpse of them was as they stood waving vigorously -- Mr. Meare to the left, his wife to the right; it had to be thus, because they were also hand-in-hand.

Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." ? Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

Such is the amazing power of stories to link us to our past and lead us all the way back to the present.

Darwin proved that not only are humans and all other animals related but also that we together feel pain, share emotions, and possess memory, reason, and imagination. Rather than seeing humans and animals as categorically different, Darwin showed that all animals, including humans, share a continuum of mental and emotional capacities.

The intensities of friendship suit you better.

Now you are in the true world, and a great deal more is required of you. Here you must befriend real wolves, and lure real birds down from the sky. Here you must endure real people around you, and we are not uniformly kind; we are damaged and impulsive, each in our own way. It is harder. It is not safe. But it is what you were born to.

What about the world do you most love? The fact that I'm not here by myself. -from interview by Jeff Vandermeer in Clarkesworld magazine

And then she fell, from standing, foot-fins together, straight into the wavelets, where she was now seal, and she flung herself down toward the deeper water.

There's a thing in poetry called the caesura a pause between words, a silence. I thought: that's what real friendship is, too. Someone you can be quiet with. Someone who understands your mistakes and forgives you.