Teen "addiction" to social media is a new extension of typical human engagement. Their use of social media as their primary site of sociality is most often a byproduct of cultural dynamics that have nothing to do with technology, including parental restrictions and highly scheduled lives. Teens turn to, and are obsessed with whichever environment allows them to connect to friends. most teens aren't addicted to social media; if anything, they're addicted to each other.
Freunde ergänzen einander, ergänzen heißt ganz machen, um das nötig zu haben, muß man beschädigt sein, aber wenn man es nötig hat, so kann man auch niemand brauchen, der auf dieselbe Art beschädigt ist, sondern jemand, der andere Schäden aufweist. Die Freunde füllen die Lücken, komplementär, sie holen auf, was einem fehlt, sie tun, was man versäumt hat, Verwandte tun das nicht, oder wenn, dann nur zufällig.
Alain Badiou was once seated amongst the public in a room where I was delivering a talk, when his cellphone (which, to add insult to injury, was mine -- I had lent it to him) all of a sudden started to ring. Instead of turning it off, he gently interrupted me and asked me if I could talk more softly, so that he could hear his interlocutor more clearly . . . If this was not an act of true friendship, I do not know what friendship is. So, this book is dedicated to Alain Badiou.
Miłość ma wpisane w siebie cierpienie. Nieuniknione, chociażby przy rozstaniach. Przyjaźń – nie. Miłość może istnieć i trwać nieodwzajemniona. Przyjaźń – nigdy. Miłość jest pełna pychy, egoizmu, zachłanności i niewdzięczności. Nie uznaje zasług i nie rozdaje dyplomów. Przyjaźń poza tym jest niezwykle rzadko końcem miłości.
I was remembering the things we had done together, the times we had had. It would have been pleasant to preserve that comradeship in the days that came after. Pleasant, but alas, impossible. That which had brought us together had gone, and now our paths diverged, according to our natures and needs. We would meet again, from time to time, but always a little more as strangers; until perhaps at last, as old men with only memories left, we could sit together and try to share them.
Are you prepared?" she asked when the other Valkyries had their passengers in place."Sure," Matt said. "But we could use a soundtrack this time. Maybe a little Wagner. Da-da-da DUM dum."Hildar looked back at hiim blankly."Wagner? Ride of the Valkyries? Da-da-da...Er, never mind.""Oh!" Baldwin said. "I know that one!""Don't feed the geek," Fen muttered."Hey," Matt said. "I'm not a-""Oh, yeah, you are, Thorsen. You really are," Fen said in a voice that might have been teasing.
Andy had been a good friend, and a good human being. Someone who was loyal, and upbeat, and funny. You think if you’re not in touch with someone, everything is probably okay with them. Life just ticks along. They do the same things as you. They grow up. They meet a girl. Maybe they get married. They progress in their work. Perhaps they get into IT, or move abroad, or have a kid. Maybe they get rich, maybe they stay poor. But you never, ever think, that maybe they’re dead.
Narcissus knew only too well what a charming golden bird had flown to him. This hermit soon sensed a kindred soul in Goldmund, in spite of their apparent contrasts. Narcissus was dark and spare; Goldmund, a radiant youth. Narcissus was analytical, a thinker; Goldmund, a dreamer with the soul of a child. But something they had in common bridged these contrasts: both were refined; both were different from the others because of obvious gifts and signs; both bore the special mark of fate.
Friendship is not about giggling, sharing jokes, forwarding messages or sharing only joy; friendship is about understanding someone without a person not having to say a word, reaching out to someone through thoughts without saying a word, friendship is about sitting besides someone silently and having a conversation of a lifetime; friendship is about being able to tell someone that they are wrong without the fear of being judged and also being able to accept the same without any bias.
Has it ever occurred to you that one hundred pianos all tuned to the same fork are automatically tuned to each other? They are of one accord by being tuned, not to each other, but to another standard to which each one must individually bow. So one hundred worshipers met together, each one looking away to Christ, are in heart nearer to each other than they could possibly be, were they to become 'unity' conscious and turn their eyes away from God to strive for closer fellowship.
Defriending isn’t just unrecognized by some social oversight; it’s protected by its own protocol, a code of silence. Demanding an explanation wouldn’t just be undignified; it would violate the whole tacit contract on which friendship is founded. The same thing that makes friendship so valuable is what makes it so tenuous: it is purely voluntary. You enter into it freely, without the imperatives of biology or the agenda of desire. Officially, you owe each other nothing.
When Nico had woken up at Barrachina and found the Hunters’ note about kidnapping Reyna, he’d torn apart the courtyard in rage. He didn’t want the Hunters stealing another important person from him. Fortunately, he’d got Reyna back, but he didn’t like how brooding she had become. Every time he tried to ask her about the incident on the Calle San Jose – those ghosts on the balcony, all staring at her, whispering accusations – Reyna shut him down.
A writer is a dangerous friend. Everything you say, all of your life and experience, is fodder for our writing. We mean you no harm, but what you know and what you’ve done is unavoidably fascinating to us. Being friends with a writer is a bit like trying to keep a bear as a pet. They’re wonderful, friendly creatures, but they play rough and they don’t know their own strength or remember that they have claws. Choose the stories you tell to your writer friends carefully.
— Eu escolheria você — digo. — Porra, eu escolheria você, sim. Quero que daqui a vinte anos você vá à minha casa com seu cara ou seus filhos adotivos e quero que a porra dos nossos filhos sejam amigos e quero, tipo, beber vinho e falar sobre o Oriente Médio, ou sei lá que porra vamos querer fazer quando formos velhos. Somos amigos há tempo demais pra escolher, mas, se pudéssemos escolher, eu escolheria você.
We both grew so used to each other, so comfortable with the naturalness and ease of our friendship, that we became sloppy about keeping our relationship a secret. It was not that we were physically demonstrative or obviously in love, more that it had become impossible for us to hide our close involvement. We had gradually acquired the unmistakable air of old-love: finishing each other's sentences and speaking to each other with an offhand, presuming intimacy that was eventually noticed.
