Quotes About Distance

It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.

I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

That even if they were separated by space, they were together in time.

Aprieto los ojos con fuerza e intento llegar a él a través cientos de kilómetros de distancia, enviarle mis pensamientos, hacerle saber que no está solo. Pero lo está, y yo no puedo ayudarlo. [pp. 17]

It brings on the flood of images that torments me, awake or asleep. Peeta being tortured — drowned, burned, lacerated, shocked, maimed, beaten — as the Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion that he doesn't know. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.

So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of frozen air across the arena, which may be exactly what they've done. I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he'd be no harder to reach. I've never felt lonelier since the Games began

His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him. Running.

From a distance, Giacomo reflected—say, the distance from their table to Silvia and Lucy's table—her gaze might look adoring. From close to, however—say, the distance across this table—it most definitely did not.

I kept hearing in my head all the way that beautiful word "confluence"—"the confluence of the waters"—everything the eyes could see was like the word happening. I don't remember that there were any houses or roads or people anywhere, just treetops and water and distance and sky and birds and confluence. It may not be so rare but I thought so then and I do now—it's all so rarely the blessing falls.

I'm out, surrounded in dark. But in the distance there is a small glow, a tiny light. Suddenly I'm standing alone, the space starting to brighten as the light grows.

Harlin smiles softly and steps up, wrapping his arms around me as he brings his lips to my ear. I close my eyes. "I hate every second I'm away from you," he says. "Don't ever doubt that." And then he kisses me.

If a sigh is heard over a mobile phone anywhere on earth, it will also be heard in Alice Springs.

The one good thing about not seeing you is that I can write you letters.

Yet this points to a paradox of institutionalized nostalgia: the stronger the loss, the more it is overcompensated with commemorations, the starker the distance from the past, and the more it is prone to idealizations.

At the outset, at least, all three groups had something else to recommend them, as well: They were headquartered 3,000 miles away from the East Side of Manhattan.

Sometimes you film in your hometown, sometimes you go halfway across the world.

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.

I enjoyed being in California for a while. But that's the thing about London: you can't really shake it. I've always had the impression when I was in L.A. for long periods of time that simultaneously my life was happening somewhere else, and I'm missing it.

I live up Laurel Canyon, and if I want to walk with my son, I have to drive to the park, which is so insane to me.

When you research prolific songwriters, it is usually later in their career they write songs that they distance themselves from, or it's about other people.

I don't like, and I've never been very good at, close-up shots. As soon as you have the camera right there in front of you, it feels like you're in a different reality from the person you are acting with; you lose any real connection with them.

Although I never married, my brother fortunately did, and I have had the pleasure of watching his three sons and daughter grow up. Several of them now have children of their own. We have been a close-knit family, although often separated by distance, and have shared each other's happiness, sorrows, and aspirations.