Meaningful Quotes. Thoughtful Insights. Helpful Tools.
Advanced Search Options

Quotes about Connection

To have the two of them there, at opposite corners of the table, with their long endurance in their faces, and their present affection and pleasure, was a blessing of another kind.
— Wendell Berry
When we convene again to understand the world, the first speaker will again point silently out the window at the hillside in its season… and we will nod silently, and silently stand and go. Sabbaths 2000 II
— Wendell Berry
My mother is a fish.
— William Faulkner
It is as though the space between us were time: an irrevocable quality. It is as though time, no longer running straight before us in a diminishing line, now runs parallel between us like a looping string, the distance being the doubling accretion of the thread an not the interval between.
— William Faulkner
Surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own.
— William Faulkner
All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born.
— William Faulkner
which was no abode of the dead because there was no death, not Lion and not Sam: not held fast in earth but free in earth and not in earth but of earth, myriad yet undiffused of every myriad part, leaf and twig and particle, air and sun and rain and dew and night, acorn oak and leaf and acorn again, dark and dawn and dark and dawn again in their immutable progression and, being myriad, one...
— William Faulkner
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.
— William Faulkner
He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear. Cash
— William Faulkner
It's a comfortable thing, music is.
— William Faulkner
The past is never dead. It's not even past; it's always part of the present.
— William Faulkner
Caddy smelled like trees in the rain.
— William Faulkner