Quotes About Relationship

His wife was crying, and he felt nothing; only each time she sobbed in this profound, this silent, this hopeless way, he descended another step into the pit.

Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs. Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs. Ramsay's knee.

I always wish that you could marry everybody who wants to marry you.

Purposely, perhaps, Mary did not agree with Ralph; she loved to feel her mind in conflict with his, and to be certain that he spared her female judgement no ounce of his male muscularity.

She had a right to his arm, though it was without feeling. He would give her, who was so simple, so impulsive, only twenty-four, without friends in England, who had left Italy for his sake, a piece of bone.

If this is love, said Orlando to herself, looking at the Archduke on the other side of the fender, and now from the woman's point of view, there is something highly ridiculous about it.

What one wants in the person one lives with is that they should keep one at one's best.

But with Peter everything had to be shared; everything gone into.

egotistical. Worst of all, he is a tyrant. But look! she said, looking at him. Look

For in marriage a little licence, a little independence there must be between people living together day in day out in the same house; which Richard gave her, and she him.

for she could never think of anything to say to Clarissa, though she liked her. She had lots of fine qualities; but they had nothing in common - she and Clarissa.

f anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness.

It was one of those unclassified affections of which there are so many.

But it would not have been a success, their marriage. The other thing, after all, came so much more naturally.

How strange to feel the line that is spun from us lengthening its fine filament across the misty spaces of the intervening world

And as it went on I set it against the background of that other talk, and as I matched the two together I had no doubt that one was the descendant, the legitimate heir of the other.

We love each other, Terence repeated, searching into her face. Their faces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing. He was afraid to kiss her again. By degrees she drew close to him, and rested against him. In this position they sat for some time. She said Terence once; he answered Rachel.

He became engaged one evening when the panic was on him—that he could not feel.

Dick, you're better than I am said Clarissa. You see all around, where I only see there she pressed a point on the back of his hand That's my business, as I tried to explain at dinner. What I like about you, Dick, is that you're always the same, and I'm a creature of moods. You're a pretty creature anyhow he said, gazing at her with deeper eyes. You think so, do you? Then kiss me.

It was a case of two dogs playing on a hearth-rug; one worrying a paper screw, snarling, snapping, giving a pinch, now and then, at the old dog's ear; the other lying somnolent, blinking at the fire, raising a paw, turning and growling good-temperedly. They had to be together, share with each other, fight with each other, quarrel with each other.

The truth was that she did not want intimacy; she wanted conversation. Intimacy has a way of breeding silence, and silence she abhorred.

The human frame being what it is, heart, body and brain all mixed together, and not contained in separate compartments as they will be no doubt in another million year, a good dinner is of great importance to good talk. One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

He ran his mind over the things they had said, the random, unnecessary things which had eddied round and round and used up all the time, and drawn them so close together and flung them so far apart and left him in the end unsatisfied, ignorant still of what she felt and of what she was like. What was the use of talking, talking, merely talking?

With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes—one of the tragedies of married life.