Quotes About Connection

Sometimes I looked at them and sometimes they looked at me, but rarely did we look at one another.

When a man showed up you didn't want to look at his face and he didn't want to look at his face and he didn't want to look at yours, because it's painful to see somebody so clear that it's like looking inside him, but then neither did you want to to look away and lose him completely. You had a choice: you could either strain and look at things that appeared in front of you in the fog, painful as it may be, or you could relax and lose yourself.

A man has to know he had a choice before he can enjoy what he chose. I know now. That a human has to make it with other humans . . . before he can make it with himself.

They don't have to think. Just be afraid naturally and pulling together. Like specks of mercury rolling into the big piece. Like little specks of mercury rolling into bigger specks and then bigger and then just one piece, and nothing to be scared about or hurt about because you're just a piece of a bigger piece getting bigger rolling across the land into an ocean of mercury...

Sometimes I looked at them and sometimes they looked at me, but rarely did we look at one another. It was too naked and painful. More was revealed in a human face than a human being can bear, face-to-face.

It's like each face was a sign like one of those "I'm Blind" signs the dago accordion players in Portland hung around their necks, only these signs say "I'm tired" or "I'm scared" or "I'm dying of a bum liver" or "I'm all bound up with machinery and people pushing me alla time." I can read all the signs, it don't make any difference how little the print gets.

When a man showed up you didn't want to look at his face and he didn't want to look at yours, because it's painful to see somebody so clear that it's like looking inside him, but then neither did you want to look away and lose him completely. You had a choice: you could either strain and look at things that appeared in front of you in the fog, as painful as it might be, or you could relax and lose yourself.

Man will do away with anything that threatens him with loneliness—even himself.

We almost made it that time. A little courage on someone's part and we might have made it. We were swollen and ripe for an instant together, ready for picking, offering our store to each other's hesitant fingers . . . a little tender courage at that rare right instant, and things might well have turned out differently. . .

And consummated there a month of quick looks, guarded smiles, accidental brushings of body too open or too secret to be mere accident, and all the other little unfinished vignettes of desire . . . and, perhaps most of all, consummated the shared knowledge of that desire

And sometimes, as you sing, you cannot help feeling that the unheard echoes and tunes forgotten are echoes of other voices and tunes of other singers...in that kind of world.

They wouldn't be so cocky if they knew what me and the moon had going.

I sighed, surrendering speech, but held on to her arm. "Viv . . . ?" If this was the last of it, I wanted the last look of good-by.

Mi-a zis ca un om care-a tacut atata amar de vreme avea pesemne multe de spus, dupa care se intinse la loc pe perna si astepta. Eu ma straduii un minut sa-i zic ceva, dar singurele lucruri care-mi venira in minte erau din acelea pe care un om nu le poate spune altuia in cuvinte.

but mostly, I guess, I want to really mean something to somebody

And I lay awake for hours, hoping another phone call would give me that opportunity to be alone and unruffled with her.

He didn't feel he had the ability to follow her into those reveries or the right to call her back out.

Mõnikord ma unustan, milleks naer on võimeline.

Un uomo, dopo essere rimasto zitto a lungo come me, soggiunse, probabilmente aveva parecchie cose da dire, e si appoggiò al guanciale e aspettò. Riflettei per un minuto cercando qualcosa da dirgli, ma la sola cosa che mi venne in mente era una di quelle cose che un uomo non può dire a un altro uomo, perché tradotta in parola suona falsa.

She runs in my blood and beats in my heart; she is part of me, always, so I don't have to picture her to remember her.

Suffering is not just "negative"; it is a bond through which we all touch each other. Suffering, truly, is the first grace. Dear

The only way I could discover how to help someone was by listening. Only when I heard what they were trying to say could I get a sense of what they needed, of the issues they were confronting at that time, of the kind of help that would really help at that specific moment.

the hand of death touches every love that the Descenders profess for all and sundry, tears also streaming down the face with "compassion" written all over it.

the average millennial gets or sends eighty-eight messages a day).