Quotes About Pushing Away The Ones You Love
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There's an old poem by Neruda that I've always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says "love is so short, forgetting is so long." It's a line I've related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we're trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren't the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren't really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. ~ Taylor Swift
recant, v.
I want to take back at least half of the "I love you"s, because I didn't mean them as much as the other ones. I want to take back the book of artsy photos I gave you, because you didn't get it and said it was hipster trash. I want to take back what I said about you being an emotional zombie. I want to take back the time I called you "honey" in front of your sister and you looked like I had just shown her pictures of us having sex. I want to take back the wineglass I broke when I was mad, because it was a nice wineglass and the argument would have ended anyway. I want to take back the time we had sex in a rent-a-car, not because I feel bad about the people who got in the car after us, but because it was massively uncomfortable. I want to take back the trust I had while you were away in Austin. I want to take back the time I said you were a genius, because I was being sarcastic and I should have just said you'd hurt my feelings. I want to take back the secrets I told you so I can decide now whether to tell them to you again. I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it. I want to take back at least half the "I love you"s, because it feels safer that way. ~ David Levithan
QUESTLOVE: How do you get that back? Does being downtrodden make us spiritual again?
WEST: I don't think it's just a matter of the material conditions; it's a matter of the choices that we make. Our ancestors could have chosen forms of spiritual suicide and spiritual blackout, but they decided not to, even in the midst of slavery, even in the midst of Jim Crow. Great-great grandma could have chosen to commit suicide. But she said no, her kids said no. The love said no. "I choose to be on the love train, even under slave-like conditions." That's a choice we make. All we have had as a people, historically - amid the levels of hatred, the social death of slavery, the civic death of Jim Crow, the psychological death of hating one's self, the spiritual death of giving up and selling out and caving in - all we have is a subversive memory, personal integrity, and courageous witness in the fight for justice. That's all we've got. You do away with the memory, and people can't hear the voice of a Glenn Jones or, my favorite, Gerald Levert. With no memory, you get very little artistic integrity, just a matter of stimulating people for the market, and then no creative witness. ~ Cornel West
The Accounting of Love and Hospitality -
Sermon on the Account
Do enough for others that it's impossible
For them to keep accounts
Of what they owe you
Or what you've done.
Lose the account yourself,
Expect nothing in return.
Make a habit of giving things away.
Pay for other people's meal,
Friends and strangers.
Keep no accounts on that either.
Take what is offered to you,
But expect or demand nothing.
Tell the people in your life
That you appreciate them
As often as you can.
There may be a day when you can't.
Tell your kids and spouse that you love them,
Often and every night.
Remind yourself
What it is you love about them.
Look for ways to be kind and helpful,
There are plenty to find.
Do things without telling others
You've done them.
Don't even remind yourself.
Do acts of kindness, then let them go.
Live a life without clinging to expectations
About who you should be.
Your friends and family will change,
Everything does, you will.
Life has a lot of additions and subtraction;
Change is inevitable.
Spend time mindfully changing yourself
Towards kindness and patience.
At the end of your life,
Which could be any moment,
Let the ones that knew you
Have lived a better life because you wer ~ Eric Overby
Remember why all of that happened. Don't push things away just because they didn't end up how you wanted them to. Accept that someone has left, accept that you have to let go of the ones that don't want to be with you. Growth starts not with forgetting but accepting. ~ Ventum
We Are Lovable
Even if the most important person in your world rejects you, you are still real, and you are still okay. - Codependent No More
Do you ever find yourself thinking: How could anyone possibly love me? For many of us, this is a deeply ingrained belief that can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking we are unlovable can sabotage our relationships with co-workers, friends, family members, and other loved ones. This belief can cause us to choose, or stay in, relationships that are less than we deserve because we don't believe we deserve better. We may become desperate and cling as if a particular person was our last chance at love. We may become defensive and push people away. We may withdraw or constantly overreact. While growing up, many of us did not receive the unconditional love we deserved. Many of us were abandoned or neglected by important people in our life. We may have concluded that the reason we weren't loved was because we were unlovable. Blaming ourselves is an understandable reaction, but an inappropriate one. If others couldn't love us, or love us in ways that worked, that's not our fault. In recovery, we're learning to separate ourselves from the behavior of others. And we're learning to take responsibility for our healing, regardless of the people around us. Just as we may have believed that we're unlovable, we can become skilled at practicing the belief that we are lovable. This new belief will improve the quality of our rela ~ Melody Beattie
People die of love. I'm one of the few who'll admit it. That doesn't mean it isn't true.
Take all the people who died yesterday, or last week, or last year. Subtract all the suicides and the so-called accidents of the brokenhearted. Take away the men who got blown away for being in the wrong bed at the wrong moment, the women in abusive marriages who died of cancer because they couldn't find any other exit from their lives. All the AIDS deaths except from the needles and the transfusions, the ones they call the innocent victims. Like if you have sex, you're guilty. Deserved just what you got.
Now tell me who all you've got left.
Without love the world would be overpopulated, except that without love it wouldn't be populated at all. Love giveth and love taketh away and all that crap. You'll probably say all those people died from the lack of love, but I say it's two sides of the same coin. So it's the same coin. ~ Catherine Ryan Hyde
You've got one life to live, and you must live it for you! Do what makes you happy, and do it to the best of your ability. Embrace those who truly love you, and renounce the ones who don't. Love and be loved. Do the things that bring you elation and enjoy them! Shun all negativity and embrace the positive. Do away with all fear, and allow love to envelop you. Be happy. Be free. Be at peace. And be yourself. Eat, drink, be merry ... and make life a stone groove. ~ Cat Ellington
I think about Rilke, who said that it's the questions that move us, not the answers. As a writer I believe it is our task, our responsibility, to hold the mirror up to social injustices that we see and to create a prayer of beauty. The questions serve us in that capacity. Pico Iyer describes his writing as "intimate letters to a stranger," and I think that is what the writing process is. It begins with a question, and then you follow this path of exploration.
... I write out of my questions. Hopefully, if we write out of our humanity, our vulnerable nature, then some chord is struck with a reader and we touch on the page. I know that is why I read, to find those parts of myself in a story that I cannot turn away from. The writers who move me are the ones who create beauty and truth out of their sufferings, their yearnings, their discoveries. It is what I call the patience of words born out of the search.
... Perhaps as writers we are really storytellers, finding that golden thread that connects us to the past, present, and future at once. I love language and landscape. For me, writing is the correspondence between these two passions. It is difficult to ever see yourself. I don't know how I've developed or grown as a writer. I hope I am continuing to take risks on the page. I hope I am continuing to ask the hard questions of myself. If we are attentive to the world and to those around us, I believe we will be attentive on the page. Writing is about presen ~ Terry Tempest Williams
The firsts go away - first love, first kiss, first baby. You have to create new ones. ~ Sarah Jessica Parker
But, Catherine, everything's that true despite us - the things they're talking about, natural laws - will always remain true despite us. What matters is what's true because of us. That's what's up for grabs. That's where the battle is. One remembers and values one's life not for its objective truths, but for the emotional truths ... The only thing that's really true, that lasts, and makes life worthwhile is the truth that's fixed in the heart. That's what we live and die for. It comes in epiphanies, and it comes in love, and don't ever let frightened people turn you away from it. ~ Mark Helprin
Miss Rook!" His chocolate brown eyes brightened as he saw me, and he crossed the room at once to sweep me into a warm embrace. I felt his chest rise and fall. I could hear his heartbeat. He smelled like cedar.
"That will suffice," Jackaby grumbled loudly from behind me. "Yes, yes. You are young and your love is a hot biscuit and other abysmally romantic metaphors, I'm sure. You do recall that you saw each other yesterday?"
Charlie pulled away but paused to brush a hand gently across my neck. His smile was tired but gratified. I straightened and tried to will the flush out of my cheeks. "Normal people do occasionally express fondness for one another."
"Yes, fine. I'm familiar with the concept," he groused. "It's the bubbly auras and fluttering eyelashes that really test one's limits."
"My eyelashes do not flutter," I said.
"Who said I was talking about your eyelashes? Charlie has eyelashes."
"I apologize, Mr. Jackaby, for any undue fluttering on my part," Charlie said diplomatically. ~ William Ritter
There's no such thing as positive thinking. There is, however, positive acting and positive doing, and positive being. Positive thinking is the reflection of such activities. You can't force yourself to think positively, but merely suppress negativity and get insane while pushing yourself along a river that flows on the opposite direction. Every life challenge is there to show you that you don't want to hit the rocks. It's really that simple when you look at things as they show themselves to you. You flow with the stream and you avoid the rocks along the way. That's positive thinking, even when you are angry about life, even when you're complaining, and even when you feel antagonistic with the world and the ones around you. That's the truth, simply because it will bring you back results. And that, you won't ever get by sitting on the floor and imagining emotions. You have the right to hate the rocks that come your away, as long as you keep paddling and enjoying the journey. There's no point in closing your eyes and pretending the rocks aren't there or trying to make them vanish with wishful thinking, or expecting a big magical bird to save you and take you in his wings for a pleasant flight in the skies. ~ Robin Sacredfire
Now you're going to get it," I said, guessing Al was coming when the ones in the back scattered. "You should have been nice."
With a weird cry, the closest surface demon fell back, but it was too late. A flash of red light exploded overhead, smashing the buildings away as if I were at the center of an atomic explosion. The surface demons scattered like brown leaves, the remnants of their clothes and auras fluttering. It was Al, and he burst into existence in a grand mood, an old-fashioned lantern in his hand and a walking cane at his side.
"Rachel Mariana Morgan!" he shouted enthusiastically, raising the lantern high, and I painfully rose from my crouch, breaking my bubble with a small thought. "I've come to save you, love! ~ Kim Harrison
We bend. I bend to sweep crumbs and I bend to wipe vomit and I bend to pick up little ones and wipe away tears ... And at the end of these days I bend next to the bed and I ask only that I could bend more, bend lower. Because I serve a Savior who came to be a servant. He lived bent low. And bent down here is where I see His face. He lived, only to die. Could I? Die to self and just break open for love. This Savior, His one purpose to spend Himself on behalf of messy us. Will I spend myself on behalf of those in front of me? And people say, "Don't you get tired?" and yes, I do. But I'm face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy. ~ Katie J. Davis
Desperately trying to remember her manners, she curtseyed and murmured, "Your Grace."
The smile lines at his eyes deepened subtly. "You appear to be in need of rescue. Why don't you come inside with me, away from this riffraff? The duchess is eager to meet you." As Pandora hesitated, thoroughly intimidated, he assured her. "I'm quite trustworthy. In fact, I'm very nearly an angel. You'll come to love me in no time."
"Take heed," Lord St. Vincent advised Pandora sardonically, fastening the loose sides of his vest. "My father is the pied piper of gullible women."
"That's not true," the duke said, "The non-gullible ones follow me as well."
Pandora couldn't help chuckling. She looked up into silvery-blue eyes lit with sparks of humor and playfulness. There was something reassuring about his presence, the sense of a man who truly liked women.
When she and Cassandra were children, they had fantasized about a handsome father who would lavish them with affection and advice, and spoil them just a little, but not too much. A father who might have let them stand on his feet to dance. This man looked very much like the one Pandora had imagined.
She moved forward and took his arm.
"How was your journey, my dear?" the duke asked as he escorted her into the house.
Before Pandora could reply, Lord St. Vincent spoke from behind them. "Lady Pandora doesn't like small talk, Father. She would prefer to discuss topics such as Darwin, or women's suffrage."Lisa Kleypas
She said, "Why can't you see that people care for you?"
She said, "I care for you."
"I know that you care. But…" He searched her face. "Anyone would, for a friend."
"You're more than a friend."
"On the battlefield, you stayed--"
"Of course I did."
"You have a strong sense of honor. You always have. I think you think you owe me something."
"I stayed because I love you."
He flinched and looked away. "You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do."
The night outside seemed to swell against the tent. The lamp smelled like a hot stone. His face slowly opened. He touched her hand as it pressed against his heart. His caress was light, secret, almost unsure of her knuckles, the thin tendons as strong as bone. She felt him become sure.
There was no sound when he kissed her. None when she unthreaded the ties of his shirt and found his skin.
He grasped her dagger belt, flexed his fingers once around the leather, then simply held on. He whispered something into her mouth that was almost a word. It lost its shape, became something else.
He let go. She heard the brush of linen as he drew the shirt over his head, his fingertips grazing the tent's sloped ceiling as if for balance. His ribs were bound with gauze, his body marked by scars. Old ones, badly healed and raised. Others, pink and fresh. His shoulders bore pale gouges; they looked like sets of claws, almost deliberate, like tattoos. Curious, she touched them.
He bit his lip.
Marie Rutkoski
Death is hard, and facing death is painful. But even more painful is the feeling that no one cares. To not have a friend in the world. Some of us died surrounded by loved ones. Some of us had loved ones who couldn't make it in time, who were too far away or just off getting some sleep. But there are also those us us who can tell you what it's like to have no one who you love, no one who loves you. It is very hard to stay alive just for your own sake. ~ David Levithan
I feel I can give you everything without giving myself away, I whispered in your basement bed. If one does one's solitude right, this is the prize. ~ Maggie Nelson
What young people didn't know, she thought, lying down beside this man, his hand on her shoulder, her arm; oh, what young people did not know. They did not know that lumpy, aged, and wrinkled bodies were as needy as their own young, firm ones, that love was not to be tossed away carelessly ... No, if love was available, one chose it, or didn't chose it. And if her platter had been full with the goodness of Henry and she had found it burdensome, had flicked it off crumbs at a time, it was because she had not know what one should know: that day after day was unconsciously squandered ... But here they were, and Olive pictured two slices of Swiss cheese pressed together, such holes they brought to this union
what pieces life took out of you. ~ Elizabeth Strout
Every action is a losing, a letting go, a passing away from oneself of some bit of one's own reality into the existence of others and of the world. In Jesus Christ, this character of action is not resisted, by trying to use our action to assert ourselves, extend ourselves, to impose our will and being upon situations. In Jesus Christ, this self-expending character of action is joyfully affirmed. I receive myself constantly from God's Parenting love. But so far as some aspects of myself are at my disposal, these I receive to give away. Those who would live as Jesus did - who would act and purpose themselves as Jesus did - mean to love, i.e., they mean to expend themselves for others unto death. Their being is meant to pass away from them to others, and they make that meaning the conscious direction of their existence.
Too often the love which is proclaimed in the churches suppresses this element of loss and need and death in activity. As a Christian, I often speak of love as helping others, but I ignore what this does to the person who loves. I ignore the fact that love is self-expenditure, a real expending and losing and deterioration of the self. I speak of love as if the person loving had no problems, no needs, no limits. In other words, I speak of love as if the affluent dream were true. This kind of proclamation is heard everywhere. We hear it said: 'Since you have no unanswered needs, why don't you go out and help those other people who are in need?' But we n ~ Arthur C. McGill
I KNEW IT WAS OVER
when tonight you couldn't make the phone ring
when you used to make the sun rise
when trees used to throw themselves
in front of you
to be paper for love letters
that was how i knew i had to do it
swaddle the kids we never had
against january's cold slice
bundle them in winter
clothes they never needed
so i could drop them off at my mom's
even though she lives on the other side of the country
and at this late west coast hour is
assuredly east coast sleeping
peacefully
her house was lit like a candle
the way homes should be
warm and golden
and home
and the kids ran in
and jumped at the bichon frise
named lucky
that she never had
they hugged the dog
it wriggled
and the kids were happy
yours and mine
the ones we never had
and my mom was
grand maternal, which is to say, with style
that only comes when you've seen
enough to know grace
like when to pretend it's christmas or
a birthday so
she lit her voice with tiny
lights and pretended
she didn't see me crying
as i drove away
to the hotel connected to the bar
where i ordered the cheapest whisky they had
just because it shares your first name
because they don't make a whisky
called baby
and i only thought what i got
was what
i ordered
i ~ Daphne Gottlieb
Don't look at me like that, I see those pink cheeks when you talk about him," she observed. "In my day, if I learned anything, it was to tell the ones you love how much love them. When I was your age, I fell in love with a beautiful woman. You know, fifties and all, I never told her, and she married a man that abused her terribly." She paused, and Artemis could tell her eyes were dampening. "I went to her funeral two years after she moved away. In her things, there was a letter for me, telling me how much love she'd held in her heart and couldn't speak. I was happy, my husband and my kids, but I always wonder, what woulda happened if I'd told her how much I loved her." She smiled again. "Just don't waste time, that's what I'll say. Call it old advice from an interfering old woman. ~ Beverly L. Anderson
Give your child a compliment and a hug; say, 'I love you' more; always express your thanks. Never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved. Friends move away, children grow up, loved ones pass on. It's so easy to take others for granted, until that day when they're gone from our lives and we are left with feelings of 'what if' and 'if only.' …Let us relish life as we live it, find joy in the journey and share our love with friends and family. One day, each of us will run out of tomorrows. Let us not put off what is most important. ~ Thomas S. Monson
Sometimes you have to get away from people even the one's you love because,they are not trying to become someone different ~ Martellis Thurmand
What's going on between us?"
I don't know. I rubbed my hand over my face before glancing at Echo. A hint of her cleavage peeked from her shirt. Damn, she was sexy as hell. I wanted her, badly. Would one night be enough, even if she gave it to me? Echo already felt like a heavy drug. The kind I avoided on purpose - crack, heroin, meth. The ones that screwed with your mind, crept into your blood and left you powerless, helpless. If she gave her body to me, would i be able to let go or would i be sucked into that black veil, hooks embedded into my skin, sentenced to death by the emotion i reserved for my brothers-love? "I want you."
"Do you? Really? Because these scars are sexy."
How did she see her self? "I don't give a fuck about your scars."
She stalked toward me, hips swaying side to side, eyes hardened with anger. Echo pushed her body agaist mine, parts of her fitting perfectly into parts of me. I swore under my breath, fighting for control over my body.
"How are you going to react when we 're this close and you take off my shirt? Are you still going to want me when you see red and white lines? Are you going to flinch each time you accidentally touch my arms and feel the raised skin? How about when i touch you?"
She pulled away from me, leaving my body cold after experiencing her warmth. "Or will you forbid that? Will you tell me how to dress or what i'm allowed to take off?"
Her anger only fed mine. "For the last time I don't give ~ Katie McGarry
Doing what you love, with those you love, is an adventurous type of success. The kind that can not be taken away, often discovered by those who have had much taken away, and saw it as an opportunity to re-access their path, and reset from the crucible of shared and beneficial dreams. ~ Tom Althouse
For me, the most interesting people are ones who often work against their best interests. Bad choices. They go in directions where you go, 'No no no nooo!' You push away someone who is trying to love you, you hurt someone who's trying to get your trust, or you love someone you shouldn't. ~ Paul Haggis
I love you, Eve." She looked away from the sun, the ocean, and into his eyes. And it was wonderful, and for the moment, it was simple.
"I missed you." She pressed her cheek to his and held him tightly. "I really missed you. I wore one of your shirts." She could laugh at herself now because he was here. She could smell him, touch him. "I actually went into your closet and stole one of your shirts - one of the black silk ones you have dozens of. I put it on, then snuck out of the house like a thief so Summerset wouldn't catch me."
Absurdly touched, he nuzzled her neck. "At night, I'd play your transmissions over, just so I could look at you, hear your voice."
"Really?" She giggled, a rare sound from her. "God, Roarke, we've gotten so sappy."
"We'll keep it our little secret."
"Deal." She leaned back to look at his face. ~ J.D. Robb
A woman's heart is her prized possession and if she shares it with you, consider yourself blessed. It is vital to her very being; it has the capability to pump life-giving love into every living cell of your body. It can make a man believe he can fly. It can be like water to a man dying of thirst. It has the ability to keep both of you breathing when one's breath is taken away by life's ups and downs. In order for it to achieve these awe inspiring feats, a man must do his part to keep her heart beating for him. Because of her heart's vital role in sustaining the relationship, if you play with her heart and it stops beating for you…it most certainly will result in the death of the relationship.
In order for her heart to deliver this life-giving love to all of your cells, a love equally as strong must be pumped into every fiber of her being. That love must be capable of purifying the bad blood she has taken in throughout the day that took her breath away and bring pure love back to her heart. In this way it is a continuous cycle allowing reciprocal life-giving love to flow between the two of you sustaining the very life of your relationship. ~ Sanjo Jendayi
Anais Nin writes that anxiety can kill love. "It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic."
Ain't that the truth. I see that look on others' faces when I'm drowning in one of my spirals. I know that many of the loved ones I've turned to, or allowed in to witness me in this state, have had to swim away from me and look after themselves, leaving me to drown. I've always feared that they think I'm going to strangle them emotionally with my complexity. So I usually send them on myself.
Sometimes, though, when I put in the work, my anxiety has seen love grow, not die. And so, anxiety can be the very thing that pushes us to become our best person. When worked through, dug through, sat through, anxiety can get us vulnerable and raw and open. And oh so real. ~ Sarah Wilson
The door creaked as it began to open.
Gray moved like lightning, slapping his left palm against the door and slamming it shut before it had
opened more than a fraction of an inch. "Hey!" a woman squawked indignantly from the other side.
"This one's occupied," he said hoarsely, not missing a beat with his plunging hips. "Go somewhere else."
Faith couldn't say anything. Her eyes widened with alarm, but all she could do was look helplessly up at
him.
Gray's lips drew back over his teeth and his head dropped forward as he began hammering faster. His
face was flushed, satisfaction only a few moments away.
Faith shuddered wildly as the coil of tension suddenly released and the fierce, pulsing flood of sensation
swept through her. Shivering and pushing hard against him, she buried her face against his chest and bit
his shirt to muffle her gasping cries.
He kept his hand flat against the door, gripping her bottom with his right hand to anchor himself. He
shoved hard into her, twice, three times, again, then bucked violently. His head fell back and a harsh,
guttural cry rumbled up from his chest.
There was an insistent banging on the door. "What are you doing in there?" the woman said in shrill,
grating tones. "That's the lady's room! You aren't supposed to be in there!"
Slowly Gray's head came up. The expression in his eyes was indescribable, as if he couldn't believe
what was happening. He took a de ~ Linda Howard
On the first day of November last year, sacred to many religious calendars but especially the Celtic, I went for a walk among bare oaks and birch. Nothing much was going on. Scarlet sumac had passed and the bees were dead. The pond had slicked overnight into that shiny and deceptive glaze of delusion, first ice. It made me remember sakes and conjure a vision of myself skimming backward on one foot, the other extended; the arms become wings. Minnesota girls know that this is not a difficult maneuver if one's limber and practices even a little after school before the boys claim the rink for hockey. I think I can still do it - one thinks many foolish things when November's bright sun skips over the entrancing first freeze.
A flock of sparrows reels through the air looking more like a flying net than seventy conscious birds, a black veil thrown on the wind. When one sparrow dodges, the whole net swerves, dips: one mind. Am I part of anything like that?
Maybe not. The last few years of my life have been characterized by stripping away, one by one, loves and communities that sustain the soul. A young colleague, new to my English department, recently asked me who I hang around with at school. "Nobody," I had to say, feeling briefly ashamed. This solitude is one of the surprises of middle age, especially if one's youth has been rich in love and friendship and children. If you do your job right, children leave home; few communities can stand an individual's most ~ Mary Rose O'Reilley
When someone chooses to walk out of your life and be done with you, let them go. If they can walk away that easily were they ever worth sharing your life with in the first place? Begging is not an option, neither is chasing. Love yourself enough to embrace people that WANT to be in your life, not the ones looking for reasons to leave it. ~ Karlicia Lewis
