Quotes About Connection

As soon as his soft voice began to flow the night would become less empty. He built a bridge of cobwebs between us, a bridge of words. They fluttered above us in an arch; they rose and dropped, like the waters of the river. He was the source; I was the mouth. A secret was woven between us, and the beautiful madness called conversation worked a miracle: two dead logs that lay side by side suddenly revided, and were not completely separated.

Kad sam bio ugrožen, mislio sam samo na nju, hrabre?i se njenim prisustvom.Kad mi je bilo teško, pominjao sam njeno ime kao u molitvi, nalaze?i olakšanje. Kad osjetim radost, tr?im da je podijelim s njom, zahvalan joj, kao da mi je ona daruje.

Boli me glava od pi?a i noga zbog gelera. Za glavobolju sam ja kriv, za geler u nozi nisam: dobio sam ga u borbi za pomjenu svijeta. Glavobolju sam dobio žele?i da sa svijetom uspostavim prisnost. Sad mislim kako je možda lakše mijenjati svijet nego sa njim postati prisan.

Nadnio sam se nad njeno lice i gledao duge sjenke trepavica na oblim, mekim jagodicama. Njen dragi lik je odgonio utvare iz sna, i prijete?e o?i iz jave. Imam nju, oni me se ne ti?u.

Slušalac je babica u teškom poro?aju re?i. Ili nešto još važnije. Ako taj drugi želi da razume.

Prijateljstvo se ne bira, rekao je, ono biva, ko zna zbog ?ega, kao ljubav.

Nisu govorili o svojoj ljubavi, ve? o tu?oj, a to je isto. Ona je govorila evropske ljubavne stihove, on isto?ne, a to je isto. Nikad im tu?e rije?i nisu bile potrebnije, a to je isto, kao da su izmišljali svoje.

?çine kapan?k olmas?n? sadece a?k ortadan kald?rabilirdi. O zaman aralar?ndaki a?k de?il miydi?

I guess it's their friend time?

celebrate such meals as this with prisoners and others and not for them.

real religion is in people's hearts and not in buildings, texts, or rituals.

Trees have no elsewhere.

She reaches out her hand, plucks the boy's beating heart, and, weeping, eats it.

But tonight I finally made the connection that change always strolled hand in hand with loss, with upheaval, and that I would always feel it keenly because in the end, I did not live under the same sky as most other people. (p179)

Maybe that's what love meant, both people thinking they were the lucky one.

Every path leads to the same god.

Only tiny kindnesses, but the ones that counted, the million little mercies we take for granted, the mundane gestures that keep us, tentatively, together.

I will remember the feel of his hand around mine for the rest of my life.

Maybe he's lonely, she said, and I just looked at her wondering if she expected me to open a Home for the Socially Challenged or what. Then she started giggling and I had the feeling we were thinking the same thing, namely, some people are lonely for all the right reasons.

There was no need for courtship; they simply met one day and were together after that.

So much of translating, Gil once told me, takes place in an imaginary space where the writer and the translator come together. It is not necessary to sympathize with the writer, to agree with what he's written. But it is necessary to walk alongside and stay in step. It's harder, he says, when the other person has a bad limp or stops and starts all the time or moves erratically. It is hardest of all when the story comes from a place the translator himself can't go.

I've noticed that the magic getting along with someone isn't really magic. If you break it down, you can see how it happens. You say something a bit off-center and see if they react. If they get it, they push it a bit further. Then it's your turn again. And theirs. And so on, until it's banter. Once it's banter, it's friendship.

Was this just what relationships were like these days? Whatever you felt like with whoever was there?

How many events added up to a coincidence? How many coincidences added up to a conspiracy?