Quotes About Connection

I only know one story. But oftentimes small pieces seem to be stories themselves.

Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.

I smiled,"Deoch, my heart is made of stronger stuff than glass. When she strikes she'll find it strong as iron-bound brass, or gold and adamant together mixed. Don't think I am unaware, some startled deer to stand transfixed by hunter's horns. It's she who should take care, for when she strikes, my heart will make a sound so beautiful and bright that it can't help but bring her back to me in winged light.

Words have to find a man's mind before they can touch his heart, and some men's minds are woefully small targets.

Maple. Maypole Catch and carry. Ash and Ember. Elderberry. Woolen. Woman. Moon at night. Willow. Window. Candlelight. Fallow farrow. Ash and oak. Bide and borrow. Chimney smoke. Barrel. Barley. Stone and stave. Wind and water. Misbehave.

There is a sort of camaraderie that rarely exists except between men who have fought the same enemies and know the same women.

There is a great deal of difference between a penis and a heart.

Words cannot always do the work we need them to. Music is there for when words fail us.

Soon. She knew. Soon he would come visiting. Incarnadine and sweet and sad and broken. Just like her.

Si encuentras a una persona así, alguien a quien puedas abrazar y con la que puedas cerrar los ojos a todo lo demás, puedes considerarte muy afortunado. Aunque solo dure un minuto, o un día.

Mis padres bailaron juntos; mi madre con la cabeza apoyada en el pecho de mi padre. Ambos tenían los ojos cerrados y parecían perfectamente satisfechos. Si encuentras a una persona así, alguien a quien puedas abrazar y con la que puedas cerrar los ojos a todo lo demás, puedes considerarte muy afortunado. Aunque solo dure un minuto, o un día. Después de tantos años, esa imagen de mis padres meciéndose suavemente al son de la música es, para mí, la imagen del amor.

I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.

It's easy to forget when you're around." She stopped walking for a moment and I had to stop too, as she'd linked her arm in mine. "That's not right. I mean to say that when you're around, it's easy to forget." "Forget what?" "Everything," she said, and for a moment her voice wasn't quite as playful. "All the bad parts in my life. Who I am. It's nice to be able to take a vacation from myself every once in a while. You help with that. You're my safe harbor in an endless, stormy sea.

Maple. Maypole Catch and carry. Ash and Ember. Elderberry. Woolen. Woman. Moon at night. Willow. Window. Candlelight. Fallow farrow. Ash and oak. Bide and borrow. Chimney smoke. Barrel. Barley. Stone and stave. Wind and water. Misbehave.Maple. Maypole Catch and carry. Ash and Ember. Elderberry. Woolen. Woman. Moon at night. Willow. Window. Candlelight. Fallow farrow. Ash and oak. Bide and borrow. Chimney smoke. Barrel. Barley. Stone and stave. Wind and water. Misbehave.

Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made. Some might take offense at this way of seeing things, not understanding how a trouper views his music. They might think I degrade women. They might consider me callous, or boorish, or crude. But those people do not understand love, or music, or me.

They were the best sort of friends. The sort everyone hopes for but no one deserves, least of all me.

I love her more than just a little. I think it's because we're both somewhat broken, in our own odd ways. More importantly, we're both aware of it.

Once, I sang colors to a blind man. Seven hours I played, but at the end he said he saw them, green and red and gold. That, I think, was easier than this. Trying to make you understand her with nothing more than words. You have never seen her, never heard her voice. You cannot know.

Do all the women in the world secretly know each other?" Sim asked. "Because that would explain a lot.

There is a great difference between a gift given freely, and one that's meant to tie you to a man.

Yo la conozco desde hace más tiempo», decía mi sonrisa. «Sí, tú has estado entre sus brazos, has probado el sabor de su boca, has sentido su calor, y eso es algo que yo nunca he tenido. Pero hay una parte de ella que es solo para mí. Tú no puedes tocarla, por mucho que te esfuerces. Y cuando te deje, yo seguiré estando aquí, haciéndola reír. Y mi luz brillará en ella. Yo seguiré estando aquí mucho después de que ella haya olvidado tu nombre.»

So we rode in silence. It was nice just being near her. You wouldn't think a girl in bandages with a blackened eye could be beautiful, but Denna was. Lovely as the moon: not flawless, perhaps, but perfect.

I realized how common this feeling is. I've had person after person tell me that they empathize with Auri. That they know where she's coming from. I didn't expect that. I cannot help but wonder how many of us walk through our lives, day after day, feeling slightly broken and alone, surrounded all the time by others who feel exactly the same way.

No piensas en mí como yo en ti. No me importa. Pero si también tienes frío, podrías acercarte y rodearme con los brazos. Solo un poco. Con un nudo en la garganta, me acerqué, me senté a su lado y la abracé. —Qué bien —dijo ella, más relajada—. Es como si hasta ahora siempre hubiera tenido frío." El Nombre Del Viento.