Quotes About Connection

Within a few hours of meeting him, I realized that "love at first sight" just means feeling immediately and extremely calm with someone.

Soul mate" isn't a pre-existing condition. It's an earned title. They're made over time.

Walter Mischel says the worst-case scenario for a kid from eighteen to twenty-four months of age is "the child is busy and the child is happy, and the mother comes along with a forkful of spinach... "The mothers who really foul it up are the ones who are coming in when the child is busy and doesn't want or need them, and are not there when the child is eager to have them. So becoming alert to that is absolutely critical.

WARMING UP TO the crèche turned out to be easy. Warming up to the other mothers there isn't. I'm aware that Anglo-American-style instant bonding between women doesn't happen in France. I've heard that female friendships here start out slowly, and can take years to ramp up. (Though once you're finally 'in' with a French woman, you're supposedly stuck with her for life. Whereas your English-speaking insta-friends can drop you at any time.)

Rather, Dolto insisted that the content of what you say to a baby matters tremendously. She said it was crucial that parents tell their babies the truth in order to gently affirm what the babies already know. In fact, she thought that babies begin eavesdropping on adult conversations—and intuiting the problems and conflicts swirling around them—from the womb.

Dizer Bonjour é reconhecera humanidade da outra pessoa. É sinalizar que você a vê como pessoa, não como alguém que tem que servir você.

Perfection isn't a requirement of friendship, but showing people who you are definitely is.

The family is based on the couple. If it exists only through children, it withers,

I'm aware that American-style instant bonding between women doesn't happen in France. I've heard that female friendships here start out slowly and can take years to ramp up. (Though once you're finally "in" with a Frenchwoman, you're supposedly stuck with her for life. American insta-friends can drop you anytime.)

It felt odd to have interrupted the life of someone she knew nothing about, to kill someone she had only just met, as though killing needed intimacy, deep knowledge of the other, to make it all right.

He wanted her. Here, now, between growing vines and fallen leaves, in the rain and the mud. Anywhere.And she wanted him, too.

Breastfeeding is a mother's gift to herself, her baby and the earth.

Trust is important,' he agreed. 'Trust is very important, maybe as important as love. But trust can be gained and trust can be earned. Love is either there or it's not. And when it's not, all the trust in the world is empty without it.

It was Laney and me against the world. We were a powerful pair that summer. Nobody could ever come between us.

When couples come together, it's for big reasons. Sometimes more than they believe. And the person who is right for you is exactly the one that makes you become who heaven intended you to be.

It was there. That feeling, that oneness, that she'd always sought, that she'd always longed for, that had always eluded her. It was right there in each other's arms. She had found it at last and she wanted to revel in it, expand it, prolong it. She wanted to make it theirs, forever. And keep it both secreted inside their hearts and shared with the entire human race.

She was Grandma Will. That term felt foreign and unfitting to the relationship they had. She wondered if her father had ever called her Mother, Ma, Mom, Mama? Maybe in private he might have, but to the world, all the world, it was Aunt Will.

Piney woke up wearing a big grin on his face. He couldn't remember when he'd slept so well. He pulled the pillow next to him up over his face. He could smell her hair on it. "Jesse," he murmured to himself. He liked her. He really liked her. And he loved, loved, loved doing her. Being inside her. She was so hot. She was so tight. She was… Piney stopped himself in midthought and rolled out of bed. His mind was headed where his body could not go.

You know I am." Lifting his head, he peered into her eyes, his own smoky hot. "Show me.

Tell me your name," she murmured against his temple. "Master," he replied, his warm breath tickling her neck. She snorted. "No, it's not." He lifted his head , his eyes hot and amused. "It is to you.

She'd thought binding would enslave her. Instead, for the first time in her life, she felt whole. Tighe watched her with moisture in his own eyes. He kissed her, and the sweetness, the passion, exploded inside her a hundred times more brilliant than before as if she'd been living life in two dimensions, two black-and-white dimensions, and through this ritual, he'd lifted her into a stunning new existence.

To whom do books belong? The books we read and the books we write are both ours and not ours. They're also theirs.

My sort wants the book in its entirety. We need to touch it, to examine the weight of its paper and the way text is laid out on the page. People like me open books and inhale the binding, favoring the scents of certain glues over others, breathing them in like incense even as the chemicals poison our brains. We consume them.

Whenever one of us introduced an old favorite, we savored the other's first delight like a shared meal eaten with a newly acquired gusto, as if we'd never truly tasted it before.