Quotes About Connection

This was what most people wanted: to be close to but not part of. They didn't want the fearful unknown of a 'pristine wilderness.' They didn't want a soulless artificial life, either.

In unusual situations there can be a comfort in the presence of even someone you think might be your enemy.

What was true empathy anyway but sometimes turning away, leaving someone alone?

I would never know anyone like Borne ever again, and even if I saw Borne again it would never be the same as when we lived together in the Balcony Cliffs, the way we'd run down the corridors and punched holes in the walls and joked and laughed and I'd taught him new words that he'd held there in his mind like jewels, and repeated over and over until he knew them better than I did.

but this was always the test of our relationship. Were we symbiotic or parasitic?

Was he the woman with no clue where the ant was or the ant, unaware it was on the woman?

There are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to relive, certain kinds of connections so deep that when they are broken you feel the snap of the link inside you.

Give back to that which gave to you, came the thought, not knowing what I might be feeding, or what it meant for the collection of cells and thoughts that comprised me.

Perhaps only I could truly make Wick a person, by forgiving him, and if I forgave him, if I showed I forgave him, then maybe we could be people together.

Because dead things felt only love for the universe.

Early on, I had thought Wick was reaching for a body across the bed. But, for a long time, he had been reaching for me--for the person called Rachel, who did indeed, in the end, love back the person name Wick.

Imbuing fiction with a life that extends beyond the last word is in some ways the goal: the ending that goes beyond the ending in the reader's mind, so invested are they in the story.

I loved the late-night slow burn of being out, my mind turning over some problem, some piece of data, while able to appear sociable but still existing apart.

What am I? How am I connected? What is my purpose? What is all of this, felt in the flesh? Why is it so beautiful? What is beautiful? Why do I not know? What else don't I know? When will I know it? Will I ever know? Would knowing be too much?

And so I wept my story into the ocean and the ocean received it.

There are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to relive, certain kinds of connections so deep that when they are broken you feel the snap of the link inside you. As

Empathy is a losing game

And, if I'm honest, I can't shake the sense that he is still here, somewhere, even if utterly transformed - in the eye of a dolphin, in the touch of an uprising of moss, anywhere and everywhere.

If he'd had something to say, he should have picked up the phone a long time ago.

So she sang back silently to them, as a comfort, there in the cell, and when the moonlight lay thick and bright against the gritty cheek of the sand dune, the foxes would gambol and prance for the sheer delight of it and beckon her to join them, would let her into their minds that she might know what it was to gambol and to prance on those four legs, then these four legs, to see the world from a fox's level. It was almost like flying. Almost.

bukan sekadar membaca, tetapi mempertemukan antara satu buku dengan yang lain, mempertemukan mereka dengan realitas lalu menemukan sintesis dan membuat tulisan kita sendiri.

I have a couple of favorite relatives, but because they're so far away I tend to ignore them-even though they have mailboxes, email addresses and telephone numbers. Today, I'll get back in touch.

As by knowing one tool of iron, dear one, We come to know all things made out of iron - That they differ only in name and form, While the stuff of which all are made is iron - So through spiritual wisdom, dear one, We come to know that all of life is one.

He lay beside me all those years while I turned and twisted myself to fit beside him...