Quotes About Connection

He jumped from the bed, but paused when he got to the sunporch. As Miranda saw him turn to look back at her, her whole body felt warm. "What is it?" she asked him, embarrassed now. But Etienne didn't look embarrassed at all. "It's good, cher. " He winked. "And next time, it'll be even better.

I wish you wouldn't look at me like that." Miranda frowned. "Like what?" "Like…you can see things I don't want you to see." "Too late." "Stop." She did her best to sound stern. "Now I know how Gage feels." "Except for the dimples." "Right. Except for those." "Not to worry, cher. You got a whole lotta other redeeming qualities.

Well, Miss Ellena has to come in there somewhere." Gage tried to be helpful. "We know she and Nathan had some kind of connection. And he did want you to get a message to her--" "But I still feel like we're missing something." Parker's scowl swept the faces around him. "Yeah, your minds. Your sanity. Should I go on?

Is it odd to picnic at one's mother's grave? To sit up on the cliff and trickle pebbles over the ledge and listen to them bounce until they disappear? To eat an apple, to feel the sun, and to remember her, she who gave so much that it will never diminish? Is it odd to live with ehr in you, to continue to share your days and thoughts with the presence of her loving spirit?

Sara would listen for his plane in the afternoons. It did not make sense, but she could hear it even before the dogs could.

Even up until the final moment of life, bat and moth are linked together forever, through time, and beyond. As a last-gasp evasive maneuver, a fleeing moth will sometimes stop its wingbeats in midflight, thereby ceasing to give off data to the bat's radar. But sometimes the bat will pause, too, so that the moth can't pick up any radar signals-the bat seeming to have disappeared-and for just the briefest of moments they will both hang there, suspended in eternity.

I pointed to a red-tailed hawk half a mile above us. I watched the hawk to see if it was Chubb. Strange things happen in the animal world when a loved one dies, that's a fact. They honor our passage with far more reverence than we do theirs.

And it occurred to me by the time I was a teenager that I had become part of the land, every bit as much a part of it as sparrow eggs or thrasher nest, garter snake or oak tree, and that the rest of my life, or anyone's life, would be a gradual learning process, a journey toward fitting into one's home, for those of us lucky enough to still recognize what is home...that which we are a part of, rather than estranged from. And rather than using the word lucky, perhaps I should use the word grace.

We must participate in this world that has birthed us. We must not sit around in rawhide rocking chairs with our heads sunk in grief, while the waters trickle past. We must join the waters.

I ran with him through the dark sweet-smelling cedars to the stripe of white road, and paused, panting, letting him soak up the light of the moon, letting him inflate with the excitement I felt at being alive.

Omar doesn't have any children, either. I suppose the land is all we will leave behind. In that way it is both our parents and our children. The land grows flowers for me to lay at the feet of Mother's grave, there under the big tree. I cut the flowers with scissors and carry them up there, but I am just a medium, a conduit, for that flow. It is really the land that is doing it.

They're old letters from this fellow Chubb and I used to know, he sang, almost in a whisper, and I imagined that the birds, if they could hear him, rustled in their sleep, on their roosts: his words entering their dreams, calling to them.

True worship is not trying to see The Lord, but it comes from seeing Him.

LOVE is not only an Emotion.....It is the Highest Emotion.

There is more than a little love involved in all of this.

A bed is where a sense of shared purpose first takes root.

Maybe it was more than this. Maybe the bond that forms between people doesn't get unmade so easily. Maybe it leaves its mark for a long time.

Isn't a tangle of limbs a glorious thing to behold? Don't you wish to be in a tangle of limbs?

He had been lonely even in his wife's arms, lonely in crowds, lonely at meetings, lonely throwing tennis balls for his dog, lonely playing Operation with his kids. He had been lonely during commuter conversations, lonely during late-night heart-to-hearts with old fraternity brothers. His dad, living alone up in New Hampshire, made Hood lonely. The severe landscapes of November made him lonely.

When you're starved for this kind of contact, a little goes a long way.

Fuck 'em. Call it whatever you want. Maybe it's just two people clinging to each other to stay alive. Maybe sometimes that's all love gets to be. And, maybe, if they hold onto each other long enough . . . maybe something good finally happens.

HUGS, another one of the many benefits of not being a nihilistic, psychopathic automaton.

Tell the sun and stars hello for me.

Before I could figure out how to apologize for being such an idiot, she tackled me with a hug, then pulled away just as quickly. I'm glad you're not a guinea pig. Me, too. I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.