Quotes About Connection

Then the three minutes of black and white are over and what's left is the story of human beings and air, something we hardly ever notice or think about, something we couldn't live without.

It's about the connecting force from form to form. It's the toe bone connecting to the shoulder bone. It's the bacterial kick of life force, something growing out of nothing, forming itself out of something else. Form never stops. And form is always environmental.

But love was terribly important. She didn't mean romantic love. Generalized sort of love.

But pure joy! He'd forgotten what it feels like, to feel. To feel even just the thought of one's own bared self near someone else's beauty.

Here was all about the visible-invisible borders, the thin lines between here and gone, then and now, here and there, random and meant, big and small.

It isn't that kind of relationship," Elisabeth says to a lover. "It isn't even the least physical. It never has been. But it's love. I can't pretend it isn't.

There is no doubt, Daniel says. You really are you. Yes, Hannah says. I really am me. And you really are you. But if we follow Einstein's thinking and add together you plus me plus time plus space. What does that all make? Then she waits, like she always did, for Daniel finally to catch her up. What? What does it all make? Daniel says. It makes you and I more than just you or I, Hannah says. It makes us us.

We have to hope that the people who love us and who know us a little bit will in the end have seen us truly. In the end, not much else matters. It is the only responsibility memory has. But, of course, memory and responsibility are strangers. They're foreign to each other. Memory always goes its own way quote regardless.

He had seemed a man with whom the right kind of dialogue would be possible.

None of these things is happening here. They are all happening far away, elsewhere. But they may as well be, Iris says. What does here mean anyway, I'd like to know. Everywhere's a here, isn't it?

I can remember once sitting opposite my brother and feeling so much love for him that it was almost as though I was knitted to him.

It is possible, he said, to be in love not with someone but with their eyes. I mean, with how eyes that aren't yours let you see where you are, who you are.

believe that there's no such thing as society.

It's good, to be seen past, as if you're not the only one, as if everything isn't happening just to you. Because you're not. And it isn't.

Even the machine has to encounter nature, not even it can escape the earth. There's something reassuring in that.

Livslånga vänskaper, sa han. Ibland får vi vänta en livstid på dem.

after she's dead she's going to come back every year as blossom on a tree. And if you die before me, he says, I will spend all the time I'm alive and not with you negotiating the various time differences across the world so that I can spend as much time as a man possibly can on this planet in springtime, in search of you

On the contrary, time and space are what lace us all up together, Hannah says. What makes us part of the larger picture. Universally speaking. The problem is, we tend to think we're separate. But it's a delusion.

he always went straight to the machines and in a strange way it was released to because having to talk with someone, even the smallest, most casual talks, was sometimes quite hard because you always felt they judged you or you always felt shy or that you were saying a stupid or wrong thing. The pitfalls of human exchange, Sophia said.

Is it possible, he said, to be in love not with someone but with their eyes. I mean, with how eyes that aren't yours let you see where you are, who you are…We have to hope that the people who love us and who know us a little bit will in the end have seen us truly. In the end, not much else matters…It is the only responsibility memory has. But, of course, memory and responsibility are strangers. They're foreign to each other. Memory always goes its own way quote regardless.

We have to hope that the people who love us and who know us a little bit will in the end have seen us truly. In the end, not much else matters. It is the only responsibility memory has. But, of course, memory and responsibility are strangers. They're foreign to each other. Memory always goes its own way quite regardless.

Oh, Dumnezeule, sora mea care are leg?tur? cu mine este o din aia - o ciudat?, o lips?, una c?reia nu po?i s? i-o tragi, o sub-dezvoltat? ?i care nici m?car nu merit? s? fie f?cut? ilegal?.)

You hold me very tight in under my clothes, and if there's a library anywhere near then someone just removed its roof, the shelves just flooded with the sun and all the old books just remembered what it means to be bound in skin and to have a spine.

it's like the people in the play are living in the same world but separately from each other, like their worlds have somehow become disjointed or broken off each other's worlds. But if they could just step out of themselves, or just hear and see what's happening right next to their ears and eyes, they'd see it's the same play they're all in, the same world, that they're all part of the same story.