Quotes About Distance

She turned and walked away, and Thomas sat there, hoping his face hadn't flushed bright red when he remembered her being close to him in the Underneath.

The calendar says we are half way from 2000 to 2015.But the reality is that we are we are a million miles away from success.

you chose someone who was an impenetrable mystery, but whose elusiveness did not tug at you; their distance gave you space to breathe and abide in a sphere of possibility, whereas the gravitational panic he felt for Blake was a precarious compound that would darken and decompose until it had burned way the surface of the earth and killed everything it touched.

The Earth reminded us of a Christmas tree ornament hanging in the blackness of space. As we got farther and farther away it diminished in size. Finally it shrank to the size of a marble, the most beautiful marble you can imagine.

Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.

distance = (speed) × (time).

How is it possible to remove such vast stones from so great a distance, as if Britain, also, had no stones fit for the work?

Paternity is a long way from fatherhood.

Many pastors would rather preach God's Word and keep their distance than invest in a personal one-on-one counseling ministry. Most pastors counsel because they have to, not because they want to.

Only God is perfect! None of us comes within a country, not a country mile, but a whole country, in proximity to perfection.

Does God love us even when our hearts are far from Him? The answer: Yes, He does!

far-off, abstract, intangible God

Anna woke with the wonderful feeling bad sleepers have when they know they have slept well. As if they have stolen something and got away with it. At these times the memories of what led up to such deep sleep keep their distance for a few seconds and those few seconds are perhaps the only time the world can ever be said to show mercy.

The fact that the technology of slaughter at vast distances has become extremely sophisticated does not culturally advance its highly trained operators over club-swinging primitives; it makes complete the blindness that was but rudimentary in the primitive. It is the supreme triumph of resentment over vision. We are the unseeing killing the unseen.

When sufficiently oblivious to their status as audience, the observers of a finite game become so absorbed in its conduct that they lose the sense of distance between themselves and the players. It is they, quite as much as the players, who win or lose. For this reason the audience absorbs in itself the same politics of resentment that moves players to show they are not what they think others think they are. The audience is under the same constraint to disprove the judgment.

You mentioned you had a connection to Antarctica." "I once lived there, but it's been a while. My mom, stepdad, and sister are still there . . . near McMurdo Station.

She sped into traffic, earning an irritated beep from an angry driver. What was his problem? A full handspan stretched between her car and the Fiat behind her. Plenty of room…

Fine's a town I don't even visit anymore.

My head cocked toward the sky, I cannot get off the ground, and, you passing over again, fast, perfect, and unwilling to tell me that you are doing well, or that it was mistake that placed you in that world, and me in this; or that misfortune placed these worlds in us.

The dead appear to us in dreams, said Julian, because that's the only way they can make us see them; what we see is only a projection, beamed from a great distance, light shining at us from a dead star

It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone. Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

Our large age difference made us shy with each other; there was a formality, a generational reserve;

Across those unbridgeable distances—between bird and painter, painting and viewer—I hear only too well what's being said to me, a psst from an alleyway as Hobie put it, across four hundred years of time, and it's really very personal and specific.

but ever since the painting had vanished from under me I'd felt drowned and extinguished by vastness—not just the predictable vastness of time, and space, but the impassable distances between people even when they were within arm's reach of each other