Text Friendship Quotes

... the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.

But aren’t small things exactly what friendships are made up of? Frayed string bracelets and late-night texts and compilations of your favorite songs? When you take those things away, what do you have left?

I dislike the phrase 'Internet friends,' because it implies that people you know online aren't really your friends, that somehow the friendship is less real or meaningful to you because it happens through Skype or text messages. The measure of a friendship is not its physicality but its significance.

A friendship where you're always trying to be considerate of the other person, always worrying about what they think, always responding to every single text, always seeking their approval and then finally connecting with them, isn't friendship at all.

Rooney dropped to her knees. ‘Georgia, I am never going to stop being your friend. And I don’t mean that in the boring average meaning of ‘friend’ where we stop talking regularly when we’re twenty-five because we’ve both met nice young men and gone off to have babies, and only get to meet up twice a year. I mean I’m going to pester you to buy a house next door to me when we’re forty-five and have finally saved up enough for our deposits. I mean I’m going to be crashing round yours every night for dinner because you know I can’t fucking cook to save my life, and if I’ve got kids and a spouse, they’ll probably come round with me, because otherwise they’ll be living on chicken nuggets and chips. I mean I’m going to be the one bringing you soup when you text me that you’re sick and can’t get out of bed and ferrying you to the doctor’s even when you don’t want to go because you feel guilty about using the NHS when you just have a stomach bug. I mean we’re gonna knock down the fence between our gardens so we have one big garden, and we can both get a dog and take turns looking after it. I mean I’m going to be here, annoying you, until we’re old ladies, sitting in the same care home, talking about putting on a Shakespeare because we’re all old and bored as shit.

Most humbling of all is to comprehend the lifesaving gift that your pit crew of people has been for you, and all the experiences you have shared, the journeys together, the collaborations, births and deaths, divorces, rehab, and vacations, the solidarity you have shown one another. Every so often you realize that without all of them, your life would be barren and pathetic. It would be Death of a Salesman, though with e-mail and texting.

I dislike the phrase “Internet friends,” because it implies that people you know online aren’t really your friends, that somehow the friendship is less real or meaningful to you because it happens through Skype or text messages. The measure of a friendship is not its physicality but its significance. Good friendships, online or off, urge us toward empathy; they give us comfort and also pull us out of the prisons of our selves.

She said once that time is nothing to me but a series of bookmarks that I use to jump back and forth through the text of my life, returning again and again to the events that mark me in the eyes of my more astute colleagues, as bearing all the characteristics of the classic melancholic.

Technology is seductive when what it offers meets our human vulnerabilities. And as it turns out, we are very vulnerable indeed. We are lonely but fearful of intimacy. Digital connections and the sociable robot may offer the illusion of companionship without the demands of friendship. Our networked life allows us to hide from each other, even as we are tethered to each other. We’d rather text than talk.

But on a Sunday morning when I want to grab an omelet over girl talk, I’m at a loss. My Chicago friends are the let’s-get-dinner-on-the-books-a-month-in-advance type. We email, trading dates until we find an open calendar slot amidst our tight schedules of workout classes, volunteer obligations (no false pretenses here, the volunteers are my friends, not me, sadly), work events, concert tickets and other dinners scheduled with other girls. I’m looking for someone to invite to watch The Biggest Loser with me at the last minute or to text “pedicure in half an hour?” on a Saturday morning. To me, that’s what BFFs are.

How To Tell If Somebody Loves You: Somebody loves you if they pick an eyelash off of your face or wet a napkin and apply it to your dirty skin. You didn’t ask for these things, but this person went ahead and did it anyway. They don’t want to see you looking like a fool with eyelashes and crumbs on your face. They notice these things. They really look at you and are the first to notice if something is amiss with your beautiful visage! Somebody loves you if they assume the role of caretaker when you’re sick. Unsure if someone really gives a shit about you? Fake a case of food poisoning and text them being like, “Oh, my God, so sick. Need water.” Depending on their response, you’ll know whether or not they REALLY love you. “That’s terrible. Feel better!” earns you a stay in friendship jail; “Do you need anything? I can come over and bring you get well remedies!” gets you a cozy friendship suite. It’s easy to care about someone when they don’t need you. It’s easy to love them when they’re healthy and don’t ask you for anything beyond change for the parking meter. Being sick is different. Being sick means asking someone to hold your hair back when you vomit. Either love me with vomit in my hair or don’t love me at all. Somebody loves you if they call you out on your bullshit. They’re not passive, they don’t just let you get away with murder. They know you well enough and care about you enough to ask you to chill out, to bust your balls, to tell you to stop. They aren’t passive observers in your life, they are in the trenches. They have an opinion about your decisions and the things you say and do. They want to be a part of it; they want to be a part of you. Somebody loves you if they don’t mind the quiet. They don’t mind running errands with you or cleaning your apartment while blasting some annoying music. There’s no pressure, no need to fill the silences. You know how with some of your friends there needs to be some sort of activity for you to hang out? You don’t feel comfortable just shooting the shit and watching bad reality TV with them. You need something that will keep the both of you busy to ensure there won’t be a void. That’s not love. That’s “Hey, babe! I like you okay. Do you wanna grab lunch? I think we have enough to talk about to fill two hours!" It’s a damn dream when you find someone you can do nothing with. Whether you’re skydiving together or sitting at home and doing different things, it’s always comfortable. That is fucking love. Somebody loves you if they want you to be happy, even if that involves something that doesn’t benefit them. They realize the things you need to do in order to be content and come to terms with the fact that it might not include them. Never underestimate the gift of understanding. When there are so many people who are selfish and equate relationships as something that only must make them happy, having someone around who can take their needs out of any given situation if they need to. Somebody loves you if they can order you food without having to be told what you want. Somebody loves you if they rub your back at any given moment. Somebody loves you if they give you oral sex without expecting anything back. Somebody loves you if they don’t care about your job or how much money you make. It’s a relationship where no one is selling something to the other. No one is the prostitute. Somebody loves you if they’ll watch a movie starring Kate Hudson because you really really want to see it. Somebody loves you if they’re able to create their own separate world with you, away from the internet and your job and family and friends. Just you and them. Somebody will always love you. If you don’t think this is true, then you’re not paying close enough attention.

Thomas Merton said it was actually dangerous to put the Scriptures in the hands of people whose inner self is not yet sufficiently awakened to encounter the Spirit, because they will try to use God for their own egocentric purposes. (This is why religion is so subject to corruption!) Now, if we are going to talk about conversion and penance, let me apply that to the two major groups that have occupied Western Christianity—Catholics and Protestants. Neither one has really let the Word of God guide their lives. Catholics need to be converted to giving the Scriptures some actual authority in their lives. Luther wasn’t wrong when he said that most Catholics did not read the Bible. Most Catholics are still not that interested in the Bible. (Historically they did not have the printing press, nor could most people read, so you can’t blame them entirely.) I have been a priest for 42 years now, and I would sadly say that most Catholics would rather hear quotes from saints, Popes, and bishops, the current news, or funny stories, if they are to pay attention. If I quote strongly from the Sermon on the Mount, they are almost throwaway lines. I can see Catholics glaze over because they have never read the New Testament, much less studied it, or been guided by it. I am very sad to have to admit this. It is the Achilles heel of much of the Catholic world, priests included. (The only good thing about it is that they never fight you like Protestants do about Scripture. They are easily duped, and the hierarchy has been able to take advantage of this.) If Catholics need to be converted, Protestants need to do penance. Their shout of “sola Scriptura” (only Scripture) has left them at the mercy of their own cultures, their own limited education, their own prejudices, and their own selective reading of some texts while avoiding others. Partly as a result, slavery, racism, sexism, classism, xenophobia, and homophobia have lasted authoritatively into our time—by people who claim to love Jesus! I think they need to do penance for what they have often done with the Bible! They largely interpreted the Bible in a very individualistic and otherworldly way. It was “an evacuation plan for the next world” to use Brian McLaren’s phrase—and just for their group. Most of Evangelical Protestantism has no cosmic message, no social message, and little sense of social justice or care for the outsider. Both Catholics and Protestants (Orthodox too!) found a way to do our own thing while posturing friendship with Jesus.

Texting is not talking and a phone is not a friend.

And things will mellow. And all this love will turn to friendship tinged forever. After that, there will be only accidental meetings, a stray email, a long-lost text.

It is an undisputed truth of the modern age that there are now only two kinds of people in the world: people who call and people who text.

I wince. I have no idea what to say. "Do you want to hit me back? You can." "No, I don't want to hit you back, you idiot. I've sent you like thiry texts. Are you okay?" My eyebrows go up. "You are asking me if I'm okay?" "Yes." It's like the moment I realised Dad wasn't going to let me chase him out of my room. I want to crumple on the floor. "No," I say. "I'm not." "Then come on." I don't move. My head is spinning. "Where are we going?" "Downstairs. Get your gloves. If you need to throw punches, let's find something better than my face.

I am not a good friend. I have never been capable of or willing to commit to the maintenance that the rules of friendship dictate. I cannot rmember bithdays. I do not want to meet for coffee. I will not host the baby shower. I won't text back because it's an eternal game of Ping-Pong, the texting. It never ends. I inevitably disappoint friends, so after enough of that, I decided I would stop trying. I don't want to live in constant debt. This is okay with me.

My people push me to do better. They listen, but not in a quiet, passive way. They’re always on point for correcting me when I put myself down or fall into the trap of thinking things are my fault when they aren’t. My friends are brilliant, funny, fearless, wise, and generous. We champion each other in e-mails, in texts, in congratulatory flowers, or simply by saying how much we trust each other.

Garrett has been the best friend a girl could want, so how could I be so stupid as to think about shutting him out for good? I've been so busy thinking about my unrequited love, I haven't even stopped to consider the other, more important part of our relationship. Friendship. Ignoring him now would make him think I don't care, that I don't want to be friends. I want to get over him, not lose him for good! How must he feel, with me not replying to his texts and e-mails like this? What kind of friend am I?

Friendship is when you answer that friend request on Skype and text twenty random letters, that is true friendship.

She sent me a text today: Sending out a search party for our friendship. I haven't responded. I don't know where it is either.

Sinter: And if there’s anything you want from London let me know. I’ll send it Andy: Really, you’d ship over Tom Hiddleston? That’s sweet

Our friendships—the ones we’re living every day—can stand on their own. They are supportive, enthralling, entirely wonderful, and, often, all we need.

It's not easy to be friends with me, actually. Besides a chooser I am also a loner. Everytime I pushed them away they just gave me space and time and after all those breaks they keep coming back. They are ready for my "3 AM text" , they are ready for my "disregard", they are ready for my ups and downs, they are ready for my weirdness, for my moods, ready for my solitude....for years. They touched me in the way no other people did. They touched me in silence. Maybe I can live without them. But God has given them as a gift for my hapiness.

Hi, you've reached Caitlin! I'm either on the other line or I'm purposely ignoring you. Or maybe Mrs. Mitchell confiscated my phone for texting in class again... Leave a message and if I deem you worthy, or at least hot, I'll call you back. Mwah!

Prioritizing friendship is sometimes tricky; society often indicates to women that it’s not on the same level as the other relationships in our lives, such as the ones with our romantic partners, our children, or even our jobs. Devoting ourselves to finding spouses, caring for children, or snagging a promotion is acceptable, productive behavior. Spending time strengthening our friendships, on the other hand, is seen more like a diversion.

In going back and thinking about my friendships and hearing about other women's, I see this: Our friends are not our second choices. They are our dates for Friday nights and for ex-boyfriends' weddings. They are the visitors to our hometowns and hospital rooms. They are the first people we tell about any news, whether it's good, terrible, or mundane. They are our plus ones at office parties. They are the people we're raising children with. They are our advocates, who, no matter what, make us feel like we won't fail. They are the people who will struggle with us and who will stay with us. They are who we text when we get home.

The women I love are like a life raft I didn’t know I was looking for before I got on it. But my friendships are not just about being nice. My people push me to do better. They listen, but not in a quiet, passive way. They’re always on point for correcting me when I put myself down or fall into the trap of thinking things are my fault when they aren’t. My friends are brilliant, funny, fearless, wise, and generous. We champion each other in e-mails, in texts, in congratulatory flowers, or simply by saying how much we trust each other.

So much has been said between them that is is needless to add a marginal note. It is not for him now to gloss the text of their dealings, nor append a moral.

So much has been said between them that it is needless to add a marginal note. It is not for him now to gloss the text of their dealings, nor append a moral.

And then to my surprise in one of them I discovered the original manuscript of On Friendship. Puzzled, I unrolled it, thinking I must have brought it with me by mistake. But when I saw that Cicero had copied out at the top of the roll in his shaking hand a quotation from the text, on the importance of having friends, I realised it was a parting gift: If a man ascended into heaven and gazed upon the whole workings of the universe and the beauty of the stars, the marvellous sight would give him no joy if he had to keep it to himself. And yet, if only there had been someone to describe the spectacle to, it would have filled him with delight. Nature abhors solitude.

got lucky. When I started to make friendships my main focus, I rarely felt alone; what I gave out in friend love, I almost always got back times two. It was sort of like we were all starved for this kind of friendship, for straight-up, openly, and honestly being thrilled we were in each other’s lives.

We have time for everything: to sleep, to run from one place to another, to regret having mistaken and to mistake again, to judge the others and to forgive ourselves we have time for reading and writing, for making corrections to our texts, to regret ever having written we have time to make plans and time not to respect them, we have time for ambitions and sicknesses, time to blame the destiny and the details, we have time to watch the clouds, advertisements or some ordinary accident, we have time to chase our wonders away and to postpone the answers, we have time to break a dream to pieces and then to reinvent it, we have time to make friends, to lose friends, we have time to receive lessons and forget them afterwards, we have time to receive gifts and not to understand them. We have time for them all. There is no time for just a bit of tenderness. When we are aware about to do this we die. I’ve learned that you cannot make someone love you; All you can do is to be a loved person. the rest … depends on the others. I’ve learned that as much as I care others might not care. I’ve learned that it takes years to earn trust and just a few seconds to lose it. I’ve learned that it does not matter WHAT you have in your life but WHO you have. I’ve learned that your charm is useful for about 15 minutes Afterwards, you should better know something. I’ve learned that no matter how you cut it, everything has two sides! I’ve learned that you should separate from your loved ones with warm words It might be the last time you see them! I’ve learned that you can still continue for a long time after saying you cannot continue anymore I’ve learned that heroes are those who do what they have to do, when they have to do it, regardless the consequences I’ve learned that there are people who love But do not know how to show it ! I’ve learned that when I am upset I have the RIGHT to be upset But not the right to be bad! I’ve learned that real friendship continues to exist despite the distance And this is true also for REAL LOVE !!! I’ve learned that if someone does not love you like you want them to It does not mean that they do not love you with all their heart. I’ve learned that no matter how good of a friend someone is for you that person will hurt you every now and then and that you have to forgive him. I’ve learned that it is not enough to be forgiven by others Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself. I’ve learned that no matter how much you suffer, The world will not stop for your pain. I’ve learned that the past and the circumstances might have an influence on your personality But that YOU are responsible for what you become !!! I’ve learned that if two people have an argument it does not mean that they do not love each other I’ve learned that sometimes you have to put on the first place the person, not the facts I’ve learned that two people can look at the same thing and can see something totally different I’ve learned that regardless the consequences those WHO ARE HONEST with themselves go further in life. I’ve learned that life can be changed in a few hours by people who do not even know you. I’ve learned that even when you think there is nothing more you can give when a friend calls you, you will find the strength to help him. I’ve learned that writing just like talking can ease the pains of the soul ! I’ve learned that those whom you love the most are taken away from you too soon … I’ve learned that it is too difficult to realise where to draw the line between being friendly, not hurting people and supporting your oppinions. I’ve learned to love to be loved.

It’s even more awkward when we’re face to face with people. It used to be exciting to make plans with friends because you could sit and catch up and talk about what’s been going on in your lives. Now when you see someone there’s nothing left to say. You’ve already seen the pictures from their trip to Rio on Facebook. You’ve read their tweets about the latest diet they’re on. And they already texted you about the pregnancy scare. So you end up just sitting and staring at each other until you both start texting other people.

Later, when April dropped me off at the house on her way to pick up Caitlin, my phone buzzed with a text. I smiled. Stacey. "You alive?" "I'm ok." I texted back. "How was your date?" Three fire emojis popped up in response, followed by an eggplant and ... were those water droplets? Oh, dear. I had no answer for that.

As we get older that prominence that a best friend holds can fall away—adult women are more likely to be asked if they have a boyfriend than a best friend and to wear an engagement ring instead of a BFF charm. Because of this, it can be frustrating for some women to get across how fundamental their attachment to their best friend

Excellent friend! how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses

Politics of Friendship is, in other words, only a book between covers. For the real text, you must enter the classroom, put yourself to school, as a preview of the formation of collectivities. A single “teacher's” “students,” flung out into the world and time, is, incidentally, a real-world example of the precarious continuity of a Marxism “to come,” aligned with grassroots counterglobalizing activism in the global South today, with little resemblance to those varieties of “Little Britain” leftism that can take on board the binary opposition of identity politics and humanism, shifting gears as the occasion requires.

A Sunday rain awakes me up today, Raindrops keeping my sorrows at bay. Wall around me is now my lockdown friend, Quarantined me has now learnt to blend. Found my family that was always at shore, The lust of wealth is not there anymore. The loyal companion that is my pet, Always keeps me cheerful and buoyant. With the sky so blue and air so clear, My crony birds singing I can now hear. And though last but never the least, My pen, my text, reappears to feast. Happiness is always there with us right, In darkness we see that hides in light!

The problem with adulthood was feeling like everything came with a timer—a dinner date with Sam was at most two hours, with other friends, probably not even as long. There was maybe waiting for a table, there was a night at a bar, there was a party that went late, but even that was just a few hours of actual time spent. Most of Alice’s friendships now felt like they were virtual, like the pen pals of her youth. It was so easy to go years without seeing someone in person, to keep up to date just through the pictures they posted of their dog or their baby or their lunch. There was never this—a day spent floating from one thing to another. This was how Alice imagined marriage, and family—always having someone to float through the day with, someone with whom it didn’t take three emails and six texts and a last-minute reservation change to see one another. Everyone had it when they were kids, but only the truly gifted held on to it in adulthood. People with siblings usually had a leg up, but not always.

I am not a good friend. I have never been capable of or willing to commit to the maintenance that the rules of friendship dictate. I cannot remember birthdays. I do not want to meet for coffee. I will not host the baby shower. I won’t text back because it’s an eternal game of Ping-Pong, the texting. It never ends. I inevitably disappoint friends, so after enough of that, I decided I would stop trying. I don’t want to live in constant debt. This is okay with me. I have a sister and children and a dog. One cannot have it all.

I read a quote once that said, ‘Friendships are the masterpieces of nature,’” Jane tells Madeline at one point. “I know it’s cheesy but you’re totally my masterpiece.

There's no way for me to know she'll find me here. I didn't call. I didn't text. I left it up to old connection, that old friendship sense.

When you notice you're thinking judgmental thoughts, pause. Try to catch yourself before you speak, text or do any harm. You can't get those words back.

Now there is great pleasure, not only in maintaining old and established friendships, but also in beginning and acquiring new ones.

When women stop seeing each other as rivals, whom they nonetheless have to be nice to, we'll be free from this clumsy middle ground of being frenemies. We can compete against each other. We can face off and admit what we really want and that it hurts when we don't get it. But we can also understand each other—and with that kind of empathy, instead of disingenuous smiles, we might be able to lift each other up.

Kitty made the acquaintance of Madame Stahl too, and this acquaintance, together with her friendship with Varenka, did not merely exercise a great influence on her, it also comforted her in her mental distress. She found this comfort through a completely new world being opened to her by means of this acquaintance, a world having nothing in common with her past, an exalted, noble world, from the height of which she could contemplate her past calmly. It was revealed to her that besides the instinctive life to which Kitty had given herself up hitherto there was a spiritual life. This life was disclosed in religion, but a religion having nothing in common with that one which Kitty had known from childhood, and which found expression in litanies and all-night services at the Widow's Home, where one might meet one's friends, and in learning by heart Slavonic texts with the priest. This was a lofty, mysterious religion connected with a whole series of noble thoughts and feelings, which one could do more than merely believe because one was told to, which one could love.

reining yourself in because why ruin a good thing? why make it weird? and then you say goodbye, with a hug, with a snarky remark, and head home. you climb into bed and imagine them with you. you think about how their hair falls in their face, about how they breathe when they sleep. you think about them waking up and nudging you into consciousness with soft kisses down your torso. you sit in bed and think of all the ways you could make their soul dance. how you know their quirks and it all feels so right, but why? why is this happening? why can’t you just be content with what you have now? except even now you have to control the urge to kiss them, even though it is in your nature, even just on the cheek, because what if it breaks the relationship apart at the seams? you may not even mean it sexually or romantically, but what if? and there’s always the chance they have felt this way too. but it’s only a chance. and why risk it? so you lay there in bed and twist the sheets around your legs and text them back about another person they have feelings toward and coax them into something healthy. you put their happiness before your own. you watch as they stumble and help them rise mightily. you gush over them and try to snuff out the selfishness that builds whenever you see them with someone else. it wouldn’t be fair to them to impose your own wants on them and take away a good friendship. it isn’t always about you. and yet here you are, writing this. writing this and thinking of someone specific the entire time.

Clingy friends are worth dying for. The ones who want to include you in every party they’re invited to. The ones who want you to be happy but also get a little jealous every time you talk about your new friends. The ones who take offence when someone says something even slightly bad about you. The ones you can call without dropping a text first and asking if it’s okay to call at the moment. The ones who know your favourite movie isn’t the one you ask everyone to watch— it’s the one you never mention to anyone because you don’t want to share it with others. The ones who know you feel too much. The ones who reassure you that just because you feel a lot doesn’t mean you are a lot. The ones who love you the way the rain loves flowers and poets love stars. The ones who are there for you on days when your heart is breaking, and also on the days when it’s blooming better than all your favourite flowers. There are some friends who make you feel like you’ve already found the loves of your life—hold on to them, always.

I should have learned how to tell another girl she’d hurt my feelings or understand I’d hurt hers. I should have been able to figure out how to say that I didn’t know how to turn down a boy’s attention, or that I’d rather not come along, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still your friend.

Still, Emma and I somehow struck up the type of friendship that lasts through primary school and high-school cliques, and our fathers are both doctors, although my dad is a GP and Dr Frank is a gynecologist (or, as Emma's two older brothers prefer to call him, a 'box mechanic'). In many ways, I think Emma and I balance each other out - at least, I hope we do. She forces me to be less cynical and bitter. And I'm on hand to remind her that, as long as she has two eyebrows rather than one, she has nothing to worry about. I text her back: 'Call me when you can plait them.' - Cat

In newspapers and magazines I read about what’s happening. Apparently Facebook exists to extinguish friendship. E-mail and texting destroy the post office. eBay replaces garage sales. Amazon eviscerates bookstores. Technology speeds, then doubles its speed, then doubles it again. Art takes naps.

But when I decided I wasn’t ready to marry my long-term boyfriend in my early thirties, I looked around, and instead of being unsure, I was inspired. Surrounding me were a bunch of women who were doing exactly what I wanted to do: striving to do good work, setting themselves apart, and aligning themselves with other amazing people.

We're reshaping the idea of what our public support systems are supposed to look like and what they can be. Women who might have assumed they could find care, kindness, and deep conversations only in romantic relationships are no longer limited to that plotline. Whether women marry or not, whether they have children or not, their friends are fundamental parts of their lives that they won't be giving up.

So, you needn’t feel obliged to return phone calls or respond to text messages or meet with a toxic person for dinner. You shouldn’t be impelled to explain yourself. You are not obligated to maintain a tie with anyone. Friendship, companionship, and love are a privilege, not a right, and if someone has squandered that privilege, you aren’t required to stick around. The toxic person is entitled to nothing.

She was the first close friend who I felt like I’d re­ally cho­sen. We weren’t in each other’s lives be­cause of any obli­ga­tion to the past or con­ve­nience of the present. We had no shared his­tory and we had no rea­son to spend all our time to­ gether. But we did. Our friend­ship in­ten­si­fied as all our friends had chil­dren – she, like me, was un­con­vinced about hav­ing kids. And she, like me, found her­self in a re­la­tion­ship in her early thir­ties where they weren’t specif­i­cally work­ing to­wards start­ing a fam­ily. By the time I was thirty-four, Sarah was my only good friend who hadn’t had a baby. Ev­ery time there was an­other preg­nancy an­nounce­ment from a friend, I’d just text the words ‘And an­other one!’ and she’d know what I meant. She be­came the per­son I spent most of my free time with other than Andy, be­cause she was the only friend who had any free time. She could meet me for a drink with­out plan­ning it a month in ad­vance. Our friend­ship made me feel lib­er­ated as well as safe. I looked at her life choices with no sym­pa­thy or con­cern for her. If I could ad­mire her de­ci­sion to re­main child-free, I felt en­cour­aged to ad­mire my own. She made me feel nor­mal. As long as I had our friend­ship, I wasn’t alone and I had rea­son to be­lieve I was on the right track. We ar­ranged to meet for din­ner in Soho af­ter work on a Fri­day. The waiter took our drinks or­der and I asked for our usual – two Dirty Vodka Mar­ti­nis. ‘Er, not for me,’ she said. ‘A sparkling wa­ter, thank you.’ I was ready to make a joke about her un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ab­sti­nence, which she sensed, so as soon as the waiter left she said: ‘I’m preg­nant.’ I didn’t know what to say. I can’t imag­ine the ex­pres­sion on my face was par­tic­u­larly en­thu­si­as­tic, but I couldn’t help it – I was shocked and felt an un­war­ranted but in­tense sense of be­trayal. In a de­layed re­ac­tion, I stood up and went to her side of the ta­ble to hug her, un­able to find words of con­grat­u­la­tions. I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in va­garies about it ‘just be­ing the right time’ and wouldn’t elab­o­rate any fur­ther and give me an an­swer. And I needed an an­swer. I needed an an­swer more than any­thing that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a re­al­iza­tion that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it. When I woke up the next day, I re­al­ized the feel­ing I was ex­pe­ri­enc­ing was not anger or jeal­ousy or bit­ter­ness – it was grief. I had no one left. They’d all gone. Of course, they hadn’t re­ally gone, they were still my friends and I still loved them. But huge parts of them had dis­ap­peared and there was noth­ing they could do to change that. Un­less I joined them in their spa­ces, on their sched­ules, with their fam­i­lies, I would barely see them. And I started dream­ing of an­other life, one com­pletely re­moved from all of it. No more chil­dren’s birth­day par­ties, no more chris­ten­ings, no more bar­be­cues in the sub­urbs. A life I hadn’t ever se­ri­ously con­tem­plated be­fore. I started dream­ing of what it would be like to start all over again. Be­cause as long as I was here in the only Lon­don I knew – mid­dle-class Lon­don, cor­po­rate Lon­don, mid-thir­ties Lon­don, mar­ried Lon­don – I was in their world. And I knew there was a whole other world out there.

Perhaps counterintuitively, monotasking getting there can also help improve our social relationships. We think we should respond to messages from friends and family as quickly as possible—but strong friendships are generally based on qualities deeper than response time. Overall responsiveness is important, but good friends should be patient, appreciate your full attention when you have it to give, and value your safety and that of others around you.

Sherry Turkle describes the way texting and online chatting have threatened true friendship because they allow us to plan and curate the versions of ourselves that we bring to our discussions. When we’re removed from facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice, and when we have time to consider and edit our replies, we don’t face the risk that face-to-face conversation naturally brings. So we don’t risk being known as someone less than perfect.

I just care about you so much … but I’ve always got this fear that … one day you’ll leave. Or Pip and Jason will leave, or … I don’t know.’ Fresh tears fell from my cheeks. ‘I’m never going to fall in love, so … my friendships are all I have, so … I just … can’t bear the idea of losing any of my friends. Because I’m never going to have that one special person.’ ‘Can you let me be that person?’ Rooney said quietly. I sniffed loudly. ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘I mean I want to be your special person.’ [...] ‘But you know what I realised on my walk?’ she said. ‘I realise that I love you, Georgia.’ My mouth dropped open. ‘Obviously I’m not romantically in love with you. But I realised that whatever these feelings are for you, I …’ She grinned wildly. ‘I feel like I am in love. Me and you – this is a fucking love story! I feel like I’ve found something most people just don’t get. I feel at home around you in a way I have never felt in my fucking life. And maybe most people would look at us and think that we’re just friends, or whatever, but I know that it’s just … so much MORE than that.’ She gestured dramatically at me with both hands. ‘You changed me. You … you fucking saved me, I swear to God. I know I still do a lot of dumb stuff and I say the wrong things and I still have days where I just feel like shit but … I’ve felt happier over the past few weeks than I have in years.’ I couldn’t speak. I was frozen. Rooney dropped to her knees. ‘Georgia, I am never going to stop being your friend. And I don’t mean that in the boring average meaning of ‘friend’ where we stop talking regularly when we’re twenty-five because we’ve both met nice young men and gone off to have babies, and only get to meet up twice a year. I mean I’m going to pester you to buy a house next door to me when we’re forty-five and have finally saved up enough for our deposits. I mean I’m going to be crashing round yours every night for dinner because you know I can’t fucking cook to save my life, and if I’ve got kids and a spouse, they’ll probably come round with me, because otherwise they’ll be living on chicken nuggets and chips. I mean I’m going to be the one bringing you soup when you text me that you’re sick and can’t get out of bed and ferrying you to the doctor’s even when you don’t want to go because you feel guilty about using the NHS when you just have a stomach bug. I mean we’re gonna knock down the fence between our gardens so we have one big garden, and we can both get a dog and take turns looking after it. I mean I’m going to be here, annoying you, until we’re old ladies, sitting in the same care home, talking about putting on a Shakespeare because we’re all old and bored as shit.’ She grabbed the bunch of flowers and practically threw them at me. ‘And I bought these for you because I honestly didn’t know how else to express any of that to you.’ I was crying. I just started crying again. Rooney wiped the tears off my cheeks.

If the original ink proved tenacious, it could still be possible to make out the traces of the texts that were written over: a unique fourth-century copy of Cicero’s On the Republic remained visible beneath a seventh-century copy of St. Augustine’s meditation on the Psalms; the sole surviving copy of Seneca’s book on friendship was deciphered beneath an Old Testament inscribed in the late sixth century. These strange, layered manuscripts—called palimpsests; from the Greek for “scraped again”—have served as the source of several major works from the ancient past that would not otherwise be known.

Attempting to be her friend would be like intentionally writing a bad check. I am not a good friend. I have never been capable of or willing to commit to the maintenance that the rules of friendship dictate. I cannot remember birthdays. I do not want to meet for coffee. I will not host the baby shower. I won’t text back because it’s an eternal game of Ping-Pong, the texting. It never ends. I inevitably disappoint friends, so after enough of that, I decided I would stop trying. I don’t want to live in constant debt. This is okay with me. I have a sister and children and a dog. One cannot have it all.

How do you tell someone like Pete that these kinds of friendships don't last, that they weren't made to last more than the summer even in the best of circumstances, and these certainly haven't been the best. That some friends aren't meant to be, except in stories, or books. You miss a penalty shot and no one wants to talk to you, and maybe you don't want to talk to them either. You want your own oblivion, and they don't understand. You don't answer their texts or even answer the messages of the one or two who venture to call. None of this has much to do with Peter, but you know you won't be friends with him past tomorrow.

I walk out of the cafe on a high. I met a stranger, had coffee and a great conversation. My first friend-date. A roaring success. But I don’t know how to proceed at this point. Do I contact Abigail again? Wait for her? This is when my friendship mentor, Rachel B, steps in. ‘My biggest piece of advice is make the first move and also make the second move.’ I take out my phone and text Abigail: ‘I hereby promise to never send you a dick pic.’ Abigail texts me back to promise me the same thing. She says she’d love to meet up again, but for the next few weeks she’s very busy with book edits. We agree to get in touch in a month or so.

I walk out of the cafe on a high. I met a stranger, had coffee and a great conversation. My first friend-date. A roaring success. But I don’t know how to proceed at this point. Do I contact Abigail again? Wait for her? This is when my friendship mentor, Rachel B, steps in. ‘My biggest piece of advice is make the first move and also make the second move.’ I take out my phone and text Abigail: ‘I hereby promise to never send you a dick pic.’ Abigail texts me back to promise me the same thing. She says she’d love to meet up again, but for the next few weeks this she’s very busy with book edits. We agree to get in touch in a month or so.

For me, these are the love-drunk, sometimes actually drunk, near-exhausted thoughts I have to send out before I fall asleep. They could be the name of some cultural reference we couldn’t remember, a belated compliment (“your skin looked so great tonight”), or another twist in the same joke we’d been making all evening. It all feels important to say right then, and I think that’s because of both how happy I feel after I’ve seen my friends and the fear—rational or not—that these times we have together may disappear at any moment. So we say: Text me when you get home. Tell me you’re safe. I’m always here for you. Let’s keep talking. CHAPTER

They listened to the last enchantments of the Middle Ages, heard the horns of Elfland, and made designs on the culture that our own age is only beginning fully to appreciate. They were philologists and philomyths: lovers of logos (the ordering power of words) and mythos (the regenerative power of story), with a nostalgia for things medieval and archaic and a distrust of technological innovation that never decayed into the merely antiquarian. Out of the texts they studied and the tales they read, they forged new ways to convey old themes—sin and salvation, despair and hope, friendship and loss, fate and free will—in a time of war, environmental degradation, and social change.

To really understand it, you'll need to know a lot," he said. "To understand the stories of the Prophets in it, you need to know your Bible stories." I gulped. My knowledge of the Bible was cobbled together from Renaissance paintings and reading Paradise Lost in sophomore English. To understand the text, you need to understand the context, the Sheikh continued. To make sense of the rules it sets down, you need to understand Arab society during the age it was revealed: "So if you don't know the customs and traditions of the Prophet Muhammad's time, you can't make sense of it." My background in seventh-century Arabia was rudimentary, and my Arabic nonexistent. The Sheikh beamed as he reached for his coat. "And of course, if you're lazy, you can't make sense of it.

It truly is a team sport, and we have the best team in town. But it’s my relationship with Ilana that I cherish most. We have such a strong partnership and have learned how we work most efficiently: I need coffee, she needs tea. When we’re stressed, I pace around and use a weird neck massager I bought online that everyone makes fun of me for, and she knits. When we’re writing together she types, because she’s faster and better at grammar. We actually FaceTime when we’re not in the same city and are constantly texting each other ideas for jokes or observations to potentially use (I recently texted her from Asheville: girl with flip-flops tucked into one strap of tank top). Looking back now at over ten years of doing comedy and running a business with her I can see how our collaboration has expanded and contracted. But it’s the problem-solving aspect of this industry, the producing, the strategy, the realizing that we could put our heads together and figure out the best solution, that has made our relationship and friendship what it is. Because that spills into everything. We both have individual careers now, but those other projects have only been motivating and inspiring to each other and the show. We bring back what we’ve learned on the other sets, in the other negotiations, in the other writers’ rooms or press situations. I’m very lucky to have jumped into this with Ilana Rose Glazer, the ballsy, curly-haired, openhearted, nineteen-year-old girl that cracked me up that night at the corner of the bar at McManus. So many wonderful things have happened since we began working together, but there are a lot of confusing, life-altering things in there too, and it’s such a relief to have someone who completely understands the good and the bad.

Until, on the last day of shooting the pilot, just as Miranda was leaving set, she turned back and said, “Hey, Jennette, do you have AIM?” “Not really,” I said, thinking she was talking about throwing things. I’ve never had good aim. “You don’t have AOL Instant Messenger?” She seemed shocked. “Ohhhh, AIM,” I said, hoping that I sounded convincing, like I knew what it was even though I still didn’t. “Yeah, I have it.” “Cool. Add me.” “Cool.” And I felt it. As soon as I got home that day, I had Marcus sign me up for an account. Over AIM, our friendship blossomed. Miranda and I spent hours talking every day on it. Sometimes if Mom walked past and asked me what I was doing, I’d tell her I was talking to Miranda, but most of the time I’d shrink the AIM text bubble, lie, and say I was doing schoolwork. She didn’t question me. She’d leave the room and then I’d pull the text bubble back up and start laughing.

You know when they get really against women? When all the scholars start studying philosophy.” The misogyny running through fiqh, said the Sheikh, was a matter not merely of scholars’ medieval mores, but of the influence of the Greek philosophers on them. Aristotle, a man who held that the subjugation of women was both “natural” and a “social necessity,” influenced key Muslim thinkers who shaped medieval fiqh, argued Akram. Before Aristotle became a core text, and before the medieval scholars enshrined their views on gender roles in Islamic law, men and women were accorded far more equal freedoms in Islam, he explained. He sketched peaks and troughs in the air, as if plotting the rise and fall of sexism through history. “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” was reaching its crescendo above us. “So why do people get obsessed with following the schools of law?” I asked. “Why not just go back to the Quran?” A wide, bright smile. “People can

The problem with adulthood was feeling like everything came with a timer—a dinner date with Sam was at most two hours, with other friends, probably not even as long. There was maybe waiting for a table, there was a night at a bar, there was a party that went late, but even that was just a few hours of actual time spent. Most of Alice’s friendships now felt like they were virtual, like the pen pals of her youth. It was so easy to go years without seeing someone in person, to keep up to date just through the pictures they posted of their dog or their baby or their lunch. There was never this—a day spent floating from one thing to another. This was how Alice imagined marriage, and family—always having someone to float through the day with, someone with whom it didn’t take three emails and six texts and a last-minute reservation change to see one another. Everyone had it when they were kids, but only the truly gifted held on to it in adulthood.

Drawing aside so as not to impede passersby, he answered. “Oggy?” said his ex-colleague’s voice. “What gives, mate? Why are people sending you legs?” “I take it you’re not in Germany?” said Strike. “Edinburgh, been here six weeks. Just been reading about you in the Scotsman.” The Special Investigation Branch of the Royal Military Police had an office in Edinburgh Castle: 35 Section. It was a prestigious posting. “Hardy, I need a favor,” said Strike. “Intel on a couple of guys. D’you remember Noel Brockbank?” “Hard to forget. Seventh Armoured, if memory serves?” “That’s him. The other one’s Donald Laing. He was before I knew you. King’s Own Royal Borderers. Knew him in Cyprus.” “I’ll see what I can do when I get back to the office, mate. I’m in the middle of a plowed field right now.” A chat about mutual acquaintances was curtailed by the increasing noise of rush-hour traffic. Hardacre promised to ring back once he had had a look at the army records and Strike continued towards the Tube. He got out at Whitechapel station thirty minutes later to find a text message from the man he was supposed to be meeting. Sorry Bunsen cant do today ill give you a bell This was both disappointing and inconvenient, but not a surprise. Considering that Strike was not carrying a consignment of drugs or a large pile of used notes, and that he did not require intimidation or beating, it was a mark of great esteem that Shanker had even condescended to fix a time and place for meeting. Strike’s knee was complaining after a day on his feet, but there were no seats outside the station. He leaned up against the yellow brick wall beside the entrance and called Shanker’s number. “Yeah, all right, Bunsen?” Just as he no longer remembered why Shanker was called Shanker, he had no more idea why Shanker called him Bunsen. They had met when they were seventeen and the connection between them, though profound in its way, bore none of the usual stigmata of teenage friendship.

No Christian friends, please, we’re Muslims The Koran warns Muslims that the Jews and pagans will be their worst enemies, but “nearest among them in love to the believers wilt thou find those who say, ‘We are Christians,’ because amongst these are men devoted to learning and men who have renounced the world, and they are not arrogant” (5:82). One Muslim interpretation of this passage holds that it refers not to all Christians, but only to those who accept Islam; this is made clear by the following two verses, in which those Christians accept Muhammad’s message. But even if one takes the text at face value, the totality of the Koranic record suggests that while Christians may themselves feel “nearest in love” to the Muslims, Muslims are not to return the favor. For Allah commands them, “O ye who believe! Take not the Jews and the Christians for your friends and protectors: they are but friends and protectors to each other. And he amongst you that turns to them (for friendship) is of them. Verily Allah guideth not a people unjust” (5:51).

At the heart of the Seven Principles approach is the simple truth that happy marriages are based on a deep friendship. By this I mean a mutual respect for and enjoyment of each other’s company. These couples tend to know each other intimately—they are well versed in each other’s likes, dislikes, personality quirks, hopes, and dreams. They have an abiding regard for each other and express this fondness not just in the big ways but through small gestures day in and day out. Take the case of hardworking Nathaniel, who is employed by an import business and works very long hours. In another marriage, his schedule might be a major liability. But he and his wife, Olivia, have found ways to stay connected. They talk or text frequently throughout the day. When she has a doctor’s appointment, he remembers to call to see how it went. When he has a meeting with an important client, she’ll check in to see how it fared. When they have chicken for dinner, she gives him drumsticks because she knows he likes them best. When he makes blueberry pancakes for the kids on Saturday morning, he’ll leave the blueberries out of hers because he knows she doesn’t like them. Although he’s not religious, he accompanies her to church each Sunday because it’s important to her. And although she’s not crazy about spending a lot of time with their relatives, she has pursued a friendship with Nathaniel’s mother and sisters because family matters so much to him.

The problem with adulthood was feeling like everything came with a timer—a dinner date with Sam was at most two hours, with other friends, probably not even as long. There was maybe waiting for a table, there was a night at a bar, there was a party that went late, but even that was just a few hours of actual time spent. Most of Alice’s friendships now felt like they were virtual, like the pen pals of her youth. It was so easy to go years without seeing someone in person, to keep up to date just through the pictures they posted of their dog or their baby or their lunch. There was never this—a day spent floating from one thing to another. This was how Alice imagined marriage, and family—always having someone to float through the day with, someone with whom it didn’t take three emails and six texts and a last-minute reservation change to see one another. Everyone had it when they were kids, but only the truly gifted held on to it in adulthood. People with siblings usually had a leg up, but not always. There were two boys from Belvedere, best friends since kindergarten, who had grown up and married a pair of sisters, and now all four of their children went to Belvedere, driven by one mom or the other in a little cousin carpool. That was next-level friendship—locking someone in through marriage. It seemed positively medieval, like when you realized that all the royal families in the world were more or less cousins. Even just the concept of cousins felt like bragging—Look at all these people who belong to me. Alice had never felt like she belonged to anyone—or like anyone belonged to her—except for Leonard.

Sometimes, though, friendship is like love. You can’t plan for it. It finds you in unlikely places. Or in the most obvious place imaginable. One evening, I get back from a run and am doubled over, recovering and panting in front of my building. The entrance opens and a woman pops out, taking out her rubbish. ‘I’m not loitering,’ I tell her when she gives me a funny look. ‘Oh, I didn’t think you were loitering,’ she says. ‘I thought you lived here.’ ‘Oh. I do. I do live here. On the third floor.’ We introduce ourselves. Her name is Hannah and she’s from the Netherlands. As she turns to go back inside, I say, ‘Hey! Do you want to swap numbers? Just in case … there’s a fire or something?’ I can tell my year is already changing me. Talking to strangers has made me less shy and even though I still had to make it a bit weird with the whole fire thing. A few weeks later, Hannah and her husband have Sam and me over for dinner in their flat because we stored a package for them when they were on holiday. Hannah has hundreds of books and I leave her flat with an armful to borrow. A few months later Hannah texts out of the blue, saying, ‘Want to grab a coffee with me right now?’ And I do. The elusive perfect friend-date: spontaneous, with good coffee, great conversation and no commute. We’d also had the spark, both having read several of the same books, both of us the same age, both of us struggling with similar things. She’d been living downstairs the entire time. But if I hadn’t gone through so many friend-dates and false starts, I know I would have asked for her number when we met. In fact, given how I normally treated my neighbours in London and how insular I was before all this began, I probably would have just pretended to be loitering.

What’s going on?’ she said. ‘Talk to me.’ ‘I …’ I looked down. I didn’t want her to see me. But Rooney was looking at me, eyebrows furrowed, so many thoughts churning behind her eyes, and it was that look that made me start spilling everything out. ‘I just care about you so much … but I’ve always got this fear that … one day you’ll leave. Or Pip and Jason will leave, or … I don’t know.’ Fresh tears fell from my cheeks. ‘I’m never going to fall in love, so … my friendships are all I have, so … I just … can’t bear the idea of losing any of my friends. Because I’m never going to have that one special person.’ ‘Can you let me be that person?’ Rooney said quietly. I sniffed loudly. ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘I mean I want to be your special person.’ ‘B-but … that’s not how the world works, people always put romance over friendships –’ ‘Says who?’ Rooney spluttered, smacking her hand on the ground in front of us. ‘The heteronormative rulebook? Fuck that, Georgia. Fuck that.’ She stood up, flailing her arms and pacing as she spoke. ‘I know you’ve been trying to help me with Pip,’ she began, ‘and I appreciate that, Georgia, I really do. I like her and I think she likes me and we like being around each other and, yep, I’m just gonna say it – I think we really, really want to have sex with each other.’ I just stared at her, my cheeks tear-stained, having no idea where this was going. ‘But you know what I realised on my walk?’ she said. ‘I realise that I love you, Georgia.’ My mouth dropped open. ‘Obviously I’m not romantically in love with you. But I realised that whatever these feelings are for you, I …’ She grinned wildly. ‘I feel like I am in love. Me and you – this is a fucking love story! I feel like I’ve found something most people just don’t get. I feel at home around you in a way I have never felt in my fucking life. And maybe most people would look at us and think that we’re just friends, or whatever, but I know that it’s just … so much MORE than that.’ She gestured dramatically at me with both hands. ‘You changed me. You … you fucking saved me, I swear to God. I know I still do a lot of dumb stuff and I say the wrong things and I still have days where I just feel like shit but … I’ve felt happier over the past few weeks than I have in years.’ I couldn’t speak. I was frozen. Rooney dropped to her knees. ‘Georgia, I am never going to stop being your friend. And I don’t mean that in the boring average meaning of ‘friend’ where we stop talking regularly when we’re twenty-five because we’ve both met nice young men and gone off to have babies, and only get to meet up twice a year. I mean I’m going to pester you to buy a house next door to me when we’re forty-five and have finally saved up enough for our deposits. I mean I’m going to be crashing round yours every night for dinner because you know I can’t fucking cook to save my life, and if I’ve got kids and a spouse, they’ll probably come round with me, because otherwise they’ll be living on chicken nuggets and chips. I mean I’m going to be the one bringing you soup when you text me that you’re sick and can’t get out of bed and ferrying you to the doctor’s even when you don’t want to go because you feel guilty about using the NHS when you just have a stomach bug. I mean we’re gonna knock down the fence between our gardens so we have one big garden, and we can both get a dog and take turns looking after it. I mean I’m going to be here, annoying you, until we’re old ladies, sitting in the same care home, talking about putting on a Shakespeare because we’re all old and bored as shit.’ She grabbed the bunch of flowers and practically threw them at me. ‘And I bought these for you because I honestly didn’t know how else to express any of that to you.’ I was crying. I just started crying again. Rooney wiped the tears off my cheeks.

I just care about you so much … but I’ve always got this fear that … one day you’ll leave. Or Pip and Jason will leave, or … I don’t know.’ Fresh tears fell from my cheeks. ‘I’m never going to fall in love, so … my friendships are all I have, so … I just … can’t bear the idea of losing any of my friends. Because I’m never going to have that one special person.’ ‘Can you let me be that person?’ Rooney said quietly. I sniffed loudly. ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘I mean I want to be your special person.’ [...] ‘But you know what I realised on my walk?’ she said. ‘I realise that I love you, Georgia.’ My mouth dropped open. ‘Obviously I’m not romantically in love with you. But I realised that whatever these feelings are for you, I …’ She grinned wildly. ‘I feel like I am in love. Me and you – this is a fucking love story! I feel like I’ve found something most people just don’t get. I feel at home around you in a way I have never felt in my fucking life. And maybe most people would look at us and think that we’re just friends, or whatever, but I know that it’s just … so much MORE than that.’ She gestured dramatically at me with both hands. ‘You changed me. You … you fucking saved me, I swear to God. I know I still do a lot of dumb stuff and I say the wrong things and I still have days where I just feel like shit but … I’ve felt happier over the past few weeks than I have in years.’ I couldn’t speak. I was frozen. Rooney dropped to her knees. ‘Georgia, I am never going to stop being your friend. And I don’t mean that in the boring average meaning of ‘friend’ where we stop talking regularly when we’re twenty-five because we’ve both met nice young men and gone off to have babies, and only get to meet up twice a year. I mean I’m going to pester you to buy a house next door to me when we’re forty-five and have finally saved up enough for our deposits. I mean I’m going to be crashing round yours every night for dinner because you know I can’t fucking cook to save my life, and if I’ve got kids and a spouse, they’ll probably come round with me, because otherwise they’ll be living on chicken nuggets and chips. I mean I’m going to be the one bringing you soup when you text me that you’re sick and can’t get out of bed and ferrying you to the doctor’s even when you don’t want to go because you feel guilty about using the NHS when you just have a stomach bug. I mean we’re gonna knock down the fence between our gardens so we have one big garden, and we can both get a dog and take turns looking after it. I mean I’m going to be here, annoying you, until we’re old ladies, sitting in the same care home, talking about putting on a Shakespeare because we’re all old and bored as shit.’ She grabbed the bunch of flowers and practically threw them at me. ‘And I bought these for you because I honestly didn’t know how else to express any of that to you.’ I was crying. I just started crying again. Rooney wiped the tears off my cheeks.

As much fun as you can have online, always value a real friendship over something virtual. Do yourself a favor and phone, text, or message someone you haven’t seen in six months and ask if they are available for coffee or something. Challenge yourself to do this every month. Turn it into a habit and do it for the rest of your life.

Before marriage I was wildly interested in sex,” she writes to Avis, “but since joining up with my old goat, it has taken its proper position in my life.

it’s our friends who move us into new homes, friends with whom we buy or care for pets, friends with whom we mourn death and experience illness, friends alongside whom some us may raise children and see them into adulthood,

I felt special around men, and with a woman I can really be put in my place, and I’m on the same level as them.

A friend of mine told me something that I'll never forget. She said, "continue to text and check up on them if your heart tells you to. Because it's not about them, it's about how you feel. You're the one who wants to share the positivity." Unless you're prohibited to do so, of course.

With most groups, I’m desperate to be part of them,” Ruthie says about Scandal Club. “And then when I am, I feel so isolated because I realize I’m my own person.

The people who are part of my everyday right now—who invite me to dinners and plays and movies and yoga, who amuse me, and who understand me—may be less present someday.

Even now, not replying to his texts leaves a gaping hole like one in my favorite sweater that I wish wasn't there. But I either have to repair the sweater or throw it out. I haven't decided which is the best option yet.

Nonetheless, we have reason to think that, for most teenagers, time spent online can be both good and bad. Teens use texting and social media platforms to make meaningful connections, cultivate friendships, and enjoy harmless entertainment. It is also true that many of the same adolescents find that digital technology invites time wasting, unkind behavior, social comparison, and exposure to disquieting content. In my experience, teenagers will freely admit that they feel mixed about the place of digital technology in their lives.

From paragraphs to sentences. The texts went dry. From sleepovers to silence. The void only grew. We spent every waking moment together. Laughing. Crying. Sharing secrets. Your mother said I was her second child. I felt at home when I walked into your home. Until it shifted. We no longer laughed. We no longer cried. We no longer shared secrets. You no longer knew me. I stopped being the first to reach out. I figured that was what you wanted. Less of me. When I stopped reaching out, I got less of you. Less and less, until there was none. A friendship ended with distance. Our friendship ended with distance.

...phones have made it so easy to be friends without ever having to see your friends and that's one good thing about today. One.

During the dinner I thought about how much I liked Liz and how sad it was that we wouldn’t actually be able to be friends. Attempting to be her friend would be like intentionally writing a bad check. I am not a good friend. I have never been capable of or willing to commit to the maintenance that the rules of friendship dictate. I cannot remember birthdays. I do not want to meet for coffee. I will not host the baby shower. I won’t text back because it’s an eternal game of Ping-Pong, the texting. It never ends. I inevitably disappoint friends, so after enough of that, I decided I would stop trying. I don’t want to live in constant debt. This is okay with me. I have a sister and children and a dog. One cannot have it all.

The initiation of a friendship may be a mystery. Someone comes into your life, and you are attracted to him, to how he sees the world, or perhaps to how he is, how he comports himself, how he acts in the world. A classmate, an office worker, a barista, someone who goes to your church: it can happen in any part of life, the recognition that here is a person you'd like to get to know better. This person and I might be able to become friends. The development of a friendship is different. Development doesn't 'just happen'; you must choose to spend time together doing various things and talking.... Friendship takes time and a certain measure of deliberation. One seeks opportunities to meet fact to face; between meetings, one tries to talk, or write, or email, or text. The physical meeting needs to happen: from the ancients to today, those who think about friendship realize the irreplaceability of being in the same space, breathing the same atmosphere.

Amaris keeps texting me pictures of him. She took him to the record shop. She says he’s really into Pink Floyd.” He laughs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I mean, who doesn’t love The Wall?” “I always thought he was a Yellow Submarine kind of frog.

Her messages remain resolutely static. She sends Harper one, just to make sure it isn’t her signal: [knock knock] But he replies quickly: [no]

The awareness of mortality casts a bittersweet shadow over the vibrancy of life and love. We exist in a state of impermanence, where beauty fades and connection dissolves. Yet, it is precisely this impermanence that imbues life with its preciousness and love with its urgency. In the face of oblivion, love becomes a defiant act, a bridge we build across the chasm of the ephemeral, a testament to the enduring power of connection in a fleeting existence." The quote's appreciation for love in the face of life's fleeting nature echoes Epicurean ideals. This emphasizes the existentialist concept of living in a finite world and the absurdist notion of creating meaning in the face of nothingness. It highlights love as a way to transcend the impermanence of life and forge a connection that defies the inevitable. The concept of finding meaning and beauty in a world wracked by impermanence aligns closely with the philosophy of Epicurus. Epicureanism emphasizes living a virtuous and pleasure-filled life while minimizing pain. Though often misinterpreted as mere hedonism, Epicurus also stressed the importance of intellectual pursuits, close friendships, and facing mortality with courage. Unfortunately, Epicurus himself didn't write any essays or novels in the traditional sense. Most of his teachings were delivered in letters and discourses to his students and followers. These were later compiled by others, most notably Hermarchus, who helped establish Epicurean philosophy. The core tenets of Epicureanism are scattered throughout various ancient texts, including: *Principal Doctrines: A summary of Epicurus' core beliefs, likely compiled by Hermarchus. *Letter to Menoeceus: A letter outlining the path to happiness through a measured approach to pleasure and freedom from fear. *Vatican Sayings: A collection of sayings and aphorisms attributed to Epicurus. These texts, along with Diogenes Laërtius' Lives and Sayings of the Philosophers, which includes biographical details about Epicurus, provide the best understanding of his philosophy. Love is but an 'Ephemeral Embrace'. Life explodes into a vibrant party, a kaleidoscope of moments that dims as the sun dips below the horizon. The people we adore, the bonds we forge, all tinged with the bittersweet knowledge that nothing lasts forever. But it's this very impermanence that makes everything precious, urging us to savor the here and now. Imagine Epicurus nudging us and saying, "True pleasure isn't a fleeting high, it's the joy of sharing good times with the people you love." Even knowing things end, we can create a life brimming with love's connections. Love becomes an act of creation, weaving threads of shared joy into a tapestry of memories. Think of your heart as a garden. Love tells you to tend it with care, for it's the source of connection with others. In a world of constant change, love compels us to nurture our inner essence and share it with someone special. Love transcends impermanence by fostering a deep connection that enriches who we are at our core. Loss is as natural as breathing. But love says this: "Let life unfold, with all its happy moments and tearful goodbyes. Only then can you understand the profound beauty of impermanence." Love allows us to experience the full spectrum of life's emotions, embracing the present while accepting impermanence. It grants depth and meaning to our fleeting existence. Even knowing everything ends, love compels us to build a haven, a space where hearts connect. It's a testament to the enduring power of human connection in a world in flux. So let's love fiercely, vibrantly, because in the face of our impermanence, love erects a bridge to something that transcends the temporary.

Focus on something specific they said and ask more about it. Read through the other person's texts and pick out words that seem important. Then, ask them to elaborate on that. This will show them you're listening, and it can also help them sort through their complicated feelings.

Good friendships take intentionality; you can’t ignore them and expect them to be healthy. You can’t cancel last minute, can’t never text back, and you can’t be a bad friend and expect to have good friendships. You just can’t. You can’t take and take and take. You can’t treat people like you don’t value them and then expect them to value you. It’s just not the way it works. If you’re always too busy for your friends, you will have shallow friendships.

The last barbecue I went to was at Sarah's house and I almost text her to tell her how when you have so many memories with one person, it's like a crime scene after they're gone. Fingerprints everywhere, sometimes visible and sometimes only popping out at the eye when a light is shined from a specific angle.

this: At the beginning of each meeting, we would go around in a circle and say how we were doing that month. And we almost never said “good.” Okay, we said. Meh. There was always a current struggle, a friendship on the precipice, a narcissistic parent sending passive-aggressive texts. We were all deserving. Why couldn’t any of us just be good? I wished so badly for us to be good.

Some will say it’s proof, for instance, that Jesus “likes to party,” that he is cool with people doing whatever they want to do, that he just likes to have fun. This is an asinine reading of the relevant biblical texts, not simply because it makes Jesus out to be careless about sin but because it misses the real scandal, which is that Jesus both hates sin and is willing to be identified with sin in order to destroy it.

With more casual connections, I’ve always held the watering can of our two-person garden and now I can put it down. If all it takes is one unanswered text to kill the friendship, then that’s all it takes.

Let me repeat that Aubéron, such as he appears in Huon de Bordeaux, is a composite figure made up of different elements drawn from oral traditions and other texts. Researchers have long recognized the importance of the Germanic traditions, without truly being able to pin them down. The possession of the hauberk is revealing in this regard. Throughout the medieval Germanic-speaking world, dwarfs are primarily smiths, and when they feel friendship toward a mortal, they offer him creations from their forge.

I didn’t get around to reading the Lord of the Rings until after I saw Peter Jackson’s movie adaptations, which I thought did a much better job of telling the story than the books. I know the text is legendary and deeply beloved, but it is also slo-ow. It takes forever to get going. Frodo waits something like five years between discovering the ring and leaving the shire. Many characters get little or no introduction, important things happen in flashback or get relegated to the appendices, and the villain never even actually makes an appearance. The real central message isn’t about friendship or singsongy environmentalism, but is something that the late wife of William Burroughs could certainly appreciate: never trust a junkie. Conventional

I swear to God, it’s like I don’t know you these last few months! First you accuse my cousin of rape, then you meet and get engaged to a guy that you just met, and now you’re saying my cousin is breaking into our apartment when he doesn’t even know where we live? Classy, Rach. You’ve turned into a real bitch.” I bent forward and exhaled roughly, as if she’d actually punched me. “Candice.” “And you know what pisses me off more? The fact that throughout all of this, all of this lying to me, all of this acting like you’re so in love with Kash and like you’re some fucking victim . . . you’re still dating Blake!” “Whoa, what?! I—no! Where did you hear that?” “He hates that you treat him like crap at school and that you’re hiding your relationship with him. He showed me all of your texts to him.” I shook my head furiously and attempted to swallow past the dryness in my throat. “I haven’t texted him since our dates at the end of last school year, Candice, I swear to you.” “I’m so done with this, Rachel. I’ve been waiting for you to just come clean to me, but for whatever reason, our friendship doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. But if you’re actually going to go through with this marriage to Kash, at least be respectful to my cousin and break it off with him. Nicely.” “Our friendship doesn’t mean anything to me?! You’re the one who won’t believe me and you’re the only family I have left!” She snorted and whirled around with her hand on the door. “And another thing. I’d love to know how you’ve been going between school, work, Kash, and Blake without Kash or me noticing. Share your secrets sometime, it could really come in handy for me, seeing as I’m the slut and all.” The door to her bedroom slammed shut and I stood there unmoving, just staring as I tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. How had this happened? How had he not only hurt me but hurt my relationship with Candice as well? I hated Blake West with every fiber of my being, and I hated what he’d done to my life. When

In its earliest uses, a catfight meant an actual physical altercation between women. One of the first citings of the term, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, was in 1854 by writer Benjamin G. Ferris to describe scuffles between Mormon wives in his book Utah and the Mormons: The History, Government, Doctrines, Customs, and Prospects of the Latter-day Saints. After he spent six months observing the community, Ferris wrote about the Mormon men practicing polygamy, or having more than one wife, and described the styles of the houses they lived in, which were designed in order to “keep the women . . . as much as possible, apart, and prevent those terrible cat-fights which sometimes occur, with all the accompaniments of Billingsgate [vulgar and coarse language], torn caps, and broken broom-sticks.

A friendship that can be ended didn't ever start.

You don’t have to have a large of circle of sisters to know the beauty of support, compassion, or even tough love. We are all busy, and maintaining friendships over coffee on a weekly basis may not be a reasonable expectation. But you can be a good friend to one or two people, calling, texting, or showing up to let them know you are in their corner. Never forget that the gift given to you by God can also be a gift to someone else. Even if you have a little living under your belt, the person who is a few steps behind you needs you.

The interesting thing about text is that, as a medium, it separates you from the person you are speaking with, so you can act differently from how you would in person or even on the phone.

Answer, yeah I know it... We were for little period of time texting nothing else... no friendship is available as a feature but you are talking about relationship and marriage are you right with your mind?

Ryan hung up. Jamie tugged his knees to his chest and curled around them. When the tears came, they brought no relief. Fifteen years of friendship and love, gone. Just like that. An hour or two later, he wiped his eyes and reached for his phone again. His vision was still blurry as he typed a text to Luke. You want some company in Russia?

An English comedian once explained the popularity of umlauts among native English speakers as follows: "It's almost as if they had two eyes. You look at the umlaut, and the umlaut looks right back at you! I believe that, because of the umlauts, a close friendship can arise between the reader and the text being read.

What does Sara think about us?” “She suspects that we’re dating.” “You should tell her the truth.” “I’ve been clear that you and I are just friends.” “Does she believe it?” “No, she can’t get why I’d want to spend a lot of time with you unless you were my girlfriend.” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about our relationship. We can make our own rules as long as we’re both comfortable with them. If we want to hug, we should. If we want to text each other at midnight, that’s okay too. Agreed?” “Agreed. Our relationship, our rules.

Text Message—Tues, Nov 19, 2:35 p.m. Amy: You are one stubborn ass woman #$%^*@ Text Message—Tues, Nov 19, 2:35 p.m. Me: Are you symbolically cussing me out?

Prayers to deities preserved from the ancient Near East share many of the same themes as Biblical prayers. Individuals sensed guilt and divine abandonment (see notes on Ps 6:1, 3; 13:1; 32:4; 51:1, 5); they felt physical suffering (see notes on Ps 22:14, 17; 38:2–3), emotional pain and shame (see notes on Ps 6:6; 25:2) and loss of friendship (see note on Ps 31:11); and they faced death (see note on Ps 16:10). At times their afflictions involved legal entanglements accompanied by slander and curses (see notes on Ps 17:2; 41:5–6; 62:4). They responded with cries for a divine hearing (see note on Ps 55:17) and justice (see the article “Imprecations and Incantations”). In ancient Mesopotamia, letters written to gods and deposited in the temple also served to bring requests before the deity. The use of rather generic names in these letters, as well as their transmission through the curriculum of scribal schools, suggests that anyone could relate his or her experience with those recorded in these prayers. In later tradition, similar prayers were cited orally by a priest rather than deposited in the temple. Much of the language of these prayers and letters, including the Biblical psalms, was general and metaphoric, allowing these texts to serve as examples for others to use in their specific circumstances. While the details of hardship might have differed, the emotional experiences and theological thoughts could be shared by anyone. As in Biblical psalms, the Mesopotamian prayers include protests of innocence, praise to the deity and vows to offer thanks for deliverance. Often specific attributes of the deity are named that correspond to the affliction and desired deliverance of the worshiper. Such elements function within the lament as motivation for the deity to respond to the worshiper’s plight. ◆ Key Concepts • Many psalms are an expression of emotion, and God responds to us in our emotional highs and lows. • Psalms is a book with purpose. • Psalms 1–2 embody the message of the book.

there was a night at a bar, there was a party that went late, but even that was just a few hours of actual time spent. Most of Alice’s friendships now felt like they were virtual, like the pen pals of her youth. It was so easy to go years without seeing someone in person, to keep up to date just through the pictures they posted of their dog or their baby or their lunch. There was never this—a day spent floating from one thing to another. This was how Alice imagined marriage, and family—always having someone to float through the day with, someone with whom it didn’t take three emails and six texts and a last-minute reservation change to see one another. Everyone had it when they were kids, but only the truly gifted held on to it in adulthood.

Maybe what I have—maybe a few texts a week, seeing someone once a year—maybe that's it. Maybe that's friendship enough.

Aristotle said that the best activities are the most useless. This is because such things are not simply means to a further end but are done entirely for their own sake. Thus watching a baseball game is more important than getting a haircut, and cultivating a friendship is more valuable than making money. The game and the friendship are goods that are excellent in themselves, while getting a haircut and making money are in service of something beyond themselves. This is also why the most important parts of the newspaper are the sports section and the comics, and not, as we would customarily think, the business and political reports. In this sense, the most useless activity of all is the celebration of the Liturgy, which is another way of saying that it is the most important thing we could possibly do. There is no higher good than to rest in God, to honor him for his kindness, to savor his sweetness—in a word, to praise him. As we have seen in chapter three, every good comes from God, reflects God, and leads back to God, and, therefore, all value is summed up in the celebration of the Liturgy, the supreme act by which we commune with God. This is why the great liturgical theologian Romano Guardini said that the liturgy is a consummate form of play. We play football and we play musical instruments because it is simply delightful to do so, and we play in the presence of the Lord for the same reason. In chapter one I spoke of Adam in the garden as being the first priest, which is another way of saying that his life, prior to the fall, was entirely liturgical. At play in the field of the Lord, Adam, with every move and thought, effortlessly gave praise to God. As Dietrich von Hildebrand indicated, this play of liturgy is what rightly orders the personality, since we find interior order in the measure that we surrender everything in us to God. We might say that the Liturgy bookends the entire Scripture, for the priesthood of Adam stands at the beginning of the sacred text and the heavenly Liturgy of the book of Revelation stands at the end. In the closing book of the Bible, John the visionary gives us a glimpse into the heavenly court, and he sees priests, candles, incense, the reading of a sacred text, the gathering of thousands in prayer, prostrations and other gestures of praise, and the appearance of the Lamb of God. He sees,

It’s funny, when you’re younger, you think your friendships are everlasting, you think you’ll always be there for each other, that nothing will ever change no matter what. And day to day, nothing changes. But then one day you wake up and realize priorities shifted, people got married, took jobs across the country, started families. You keep in touch online at first, chatting and sending messages for hours on end when you catch each other online at the same time. But eventually life gets in the way of that too and you might be lucky to get a “happy birthday” text once a year.

How many of the world’s major living religions incorporate women’s accounts into their central texts, or allow a woman’s testimony as to the correct reading of a single word of a sacred text to influence decisions?

The pursuit of justice, the Sheikh told the two women, needed to be informed by women’s voices and experiences. Muslims shouldn’t merely look to classical texts to understand their faith. Today’s scholars needed to write new ones, taking into account women’s viewpoints on the true spirit of the Quran and the sunna.

Almost no one I know calls friends merely to have the kind of long, reflective, intimate conversations that were common in earlier decades; phones are for practical exchanges—renegotiating plans, checking in on arrangements. Emails, which in the 1990s seemed to resemble letters, now resemble texting, brief bursts of words in a small space, not to be composed as art, archived, or mused over much. A lot of people are too busy to hang out without a clear purpose, or don’t know that you can, and the often combative arenas and abstracted contact of social media replace physical places (including churches) to hang out in person. Correspondence, that beautiful word, describes both an exchange of letters and the existence of affinities; we correspond because we correspond. As a young woman, I had long, intense conversations with other young women about difficult mothers, unreliable men, about heartaches and ambitions and anxieties. Sometimes these conversations were circular; sometimes they got bogged down by our inability to accept that we weren’t going to get what seemed right or fair. But at their best, they reinforced that our perceptions and emotions were not baseless or illegitimate, that others were on our side and shared our experiences, that we had value and possibility. We were strengthening ourselves and our ties to one another. Conversation is a principal way that we convey our support and love to each other; it’s how we find out who our friends are and often how friendship takes place. A friendship could be imagined as an ongoing conversation, and a conversation as a collaboration of minds, and that collaboration as a brick out of which a culture or a community is built.

I’m grinning hugely now, and buzzing too. It’s surreal how much this feels like the early days of our friendship, when every new text seemed so sparkly and funny and perfect, when every quick phone call accidentally turned into an hour and a half of talking nonstop, even when we’d seen each other a few days before.

When you find yourself assuming something, I encourage you to stop right there. Be mature enough to communicate. Make that call, send that text or email, do a video call… Do what you have to do to get clarification. Many relationships are ruined due to a lack of communication. If you genuinely care about someone, go the extra mile and communicate your thoughts and feelings. GENUINE relationships are rare and a blessing!

The longest distance ever is that between 'a text message' and 'Send'.

Friendship involves effort on both parts. On your part. On theirs. Make your peace with this truth right now or you will forever be disappointed. You will have to show up when you want to stay home. You will have to extend the invitation when you would rather receive the invitation. You will have to answer calls, respond to texts, and remember birthdays. You will have to swallow your pride sometimes, and you absolutely cannot live like you’re the only one who matters, which, let’s be honest, is probably good practice anyway.

My high school friends and I scattered like leaves to the wind, going off to various colleges and trade schools after graduation. Then there were my friends at Norvell University, who kept in touch only long enough to send wedding invites post-graduation. Once their “real” lives kicked off, it was crickets. Since moving here, I’ve had a revolving door of friends and acquaintances. I’ll get the random dinner invite text here or there, but no one here seems to be interested in any kind of authentic or lasting relationship. Only disposable, surface-level friendships. It’s

In life, and especially in dating . . . if they wanted to, they would. If they wanted to call you, they would. If they wanted to text you, they would. If they wanted to ask you out, they would. If they wanted to be your boyfriend, they would. If they wanted to marry you, they would. If they wanted to stop seeing other people, stop creeping around behind your back, stop being shady, and generally get their act together so as not to lose you . . . they would. So please stop buying into the whole “he’s too scared, he’s too busy, he’s too intimidated, he’s too shy, he’s too much of a friend to risk the friendship, he’s too focused on his career, he’s too damaged from past relationships, he’s too closed off, he’s too _______” excuses. Get honest with yourself. It might be painful, but it is also incredibly freeing. The truth will always set you free. Free to stop wasting time. Free to stop waiting around on him or anyone else to love you. Free to go in search of someone who wants the things you want and, more importantly, wants you the same way you want them. It’s so simple. If they wanted to . . . they would. That’s really all you need to know.

The Kapha Season Kapha season is like springtime for your body. For the first twenty years, your body builds bones and tissues, and the circadian rhythm fluctuates wildly at times, trying to find a balance. Babies aren’t born with a set sleep schedule, but they develop one quickly during the first months of life. Gradually, the body settles into a system in which the hormones, blood pressure, bowels, and other systems function on a diurnal schedule. Anyone with teenagers knows that they give up their regular sleep habits and become night owls. They are impossible to pry out of bed in the morning and sleep until noon on weekends. In fact, some researchers suggest that the real end of adolescence can be marked by the time when young adults give up trying to stay up so late. Teenagers’ eating schedules, too, become erratic as they crave energy while their bodies are growing and maturing. When they get out of balance, teens can struggle in school and get inflammatory conditions, such as acne. They can adopt dietary habits that will be harder to shake as they become adults, which can lead to weight gain and depression in adulthood. This is a crucial time to introduce kids to healthy eating, a good night’s sleep, and plenty of exercise. Their growing bodies demand a lot of fuel, and their muscles need to move in order to develop properly. I often see patients who are still in their teen years struggling with school, friendships, and finding a sense of purpose. Though it may sound surprising, I can often trace these problems back to an unhealthy schedule, including late nights of doing homework (or texting while pretending to do homework), and eating unhealthy foods late in the day. Another culprit is little or no exercise, and a lack of natural light. Kids need natural light during these critical growing years.

We’ve always approached every discussion with, ‘You’re more important to me as a human than as a writing partner. This fight isn’t worth blowing that up to me.

So in effect, she swapped her best friend for a cat. In her actual life, she had never fallen out with Izzy. Nothing that dramatic. But after Izzy had gone to Australia, things had faded between them. Until their friendship became just a vapor trail of sporadic Facebook and Instagram likes and emoji-filled birthday messages. She looked back through the text conversations between her and Izzy and realized that even though there was still 10,000 miles between them, they had a much better relationship in this version of things.

I remember every moment we’ve shared and even the ones we faked. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you since Thanksgiving. You deserve so much more than a text message friendship.

The longest distance ever is the one between 'that text message' and 'Send'.

After perusing for a million moments, and blankly staring at the flashing mobile screen, Ronnie finally texted, "I loke you." "There's a lot of meaning and pondering in that one word", he thought, weighing in all the options at hand.

It was from no similar, nor even from the same, material that divine Might formed this help mate, but as a clearer inspiration to charity and friendship he produced the woman from the very substance of the man.51 How beautiful it is that the second human being was taken from the side of the first, so that nature might teach that human beings are equal and, as it were, collateral, and that there is in human affairs neither a superior nor an inferior, a characteristic of true friendship.

How beautiful it is that the second human being was taken from the side of the first, so that nature might teach that human beings are equal and, as it were, collateral, and that there is in human affairs neither a superior nor an inferior, a characteristic of true friendship.

For he that loves iniquity” does not love, but “hates his own soul.” 30 Truly, he who does not love his own soul will not be able to love the soul of another. 31

Most of the other friendships in her life had simply fizzled out. They’d seen each other less and less, time between texts became longer and longer, and, eventually, they just weren’t friends anymore. Nothing explosive, just life. It was both nicer and heartbreaking in its own way. It wasn’t clear either. When did you stop saying you were friends? When did you stop thinking you were friends? When did you delete their number, stop liking all their posts online? When did you stop knowing each other? And how long did you both keep pretending? When did it all stop hurting?

I get used to my phone buzzing. To waking up to messages, to falling asleep with them. It’s an unexpectedly good sensation, being included, surrounded.

Here, Faulkner. Behold the girly texts,” Toby said, holding out his phone. “And note that I put up with them solely due to our friendship.

What had become of the girl who sought out British Socinian texts all on her own, argued over Swedenborgian theology with adults three times her age, read the New Testament thirty times in one summer, and taught herself Hebrew so that she could make her own translation of the Old Testament? There had been many obstacles. Because of financial hardship, she had been “thrown too early” into the working world, teaching long hours when she might have studied and written more. And there was the fact of her sex. Without the option of college or a profession, Elizabeth had not known how or where to apply herself. She had looked to men of genius to confirm her talents and grown “dependent on the daily consolations of friendship.” She could see now that she had “constantly craved . . . assurances” that should have “come from within.” Yet

My parents, who are white and upper-middle class, did exactly this. They believed the family unit superseded other relationships, and my early thinking that female friendships were superfluous came directly from their example and that of other families like ours in my hometown.

I dislike the phrase “Internet friends,” because it implies that people you know online aren’t really your friends, that somehow the friendship is less real or meaningful to you because it happens through Skype or text messages. The measure of a friendship is not its physicality but its significance. Good friendships, online or off, urge us toward empathy; they give us comfort and also pull us out of the prisons of our selves.

With splendid specificity, all the creative texts I have studied provide alternative models for thinking about aging. Scanty and eccentric though they may be, their tributes to love and friendship tell me that many stories have yet to be recounted. But there is a late-life love tradition, and it explores the manifold ways enduring passion sustains older people dedicated to prized partnerships and also to a range of desires: to keep on writing or reading, to go on seeing and savoring beloved places or works of art, to continue nurturing each other or progenitors or descendants, to prolong the kaleidoscope of fractured and reformed memories that accrue as a diminishing future is enhanced by a lengthening past that embellishes the present for those lucky enough to be loving while living in our final years.

Dear Goodreads diary, Thanks for receiving me all this time with hands wide open… Thanks for being patient to listen to all my gibberish. Still, I gotta go now. I’ll be absent for some time… But I want to tell you one last story… 2 years ago, a little boy came to me and asked for my help. He was desperate and tired of his life. He asked for my friendship and I was reluctant to accept his offer. I’ve always denied his emails or text messages. I know that boys are BASTARDS, though he looked like a little bird, lost and without wings…The way he talks in missing and dreams, oh GOD I wanna forget about all… it disgusts me each time to remember that he didn’t respect that I’m a conservative girl and tried his ways on me even though I’ve always asked him to stop it…. I mean, I’m 5 years older than him…. His father got sick. They reaaaaaaaally needed help. Though I’ve always known he was a “bastard” like everybody else, I couldn’t possibly leave his mom’s calls unanswered when she always asked for my help. I’ve been through all they’ve been through. I couldn’t give up on them while I knew how much it means to stand for someone who’s been tested for his father. I’m an orphan. How could I possibly walk away? + Our dear Prophet (PBUH) would never treat a misdeed with a misdeed…I’m a girl who loves GOD…I wouldn’t be as mean as him… Still, each time he was acting like bastards act. That meanness I can read in his text messages. That DISRESPECT…. I knew he used every possible memory for his ulterior motives. I kept silent for two years…I knew he was making a show… I mean even if he wasn’t making it because he saw something in me (that everybody saw, not only him), he would be making a show for his friends … Still, I’m not the one who would leave a friend in the middle of the dark…at one point in time, I called him brother…. hhh…. Thought maybe if he knows that I’m his older sister, he’ll think that the way he talked or the things he asked are things you only ask from a girlfriend and not me… he persisted…. I tested him once and he like a fool fell into the trap… I knew I should walk away even if I’d hear that his father would die… I spent whole night throwing in my disbelief…. How could people be so tricky…I’m 5 years older…. Eventually, he made his show… Thank GOD, a colleague… a mouthy colleague… started talking about everyone at school including me and him…that was heaven’s door wide open for me. Though 14 years ago, my friends started talking about me and another boy, I wouldn’t leave him for the world because I knew he was a decent boy… This time, I dived in… One month later, he came into my class not caring what my colleagues would talk…That made me sure that he wants to carry his show over… You know diary, what kills a person the most is not death. Hurt can kill…deception can kill…not apologizing can kill… Bad memories can kill…and I didn’t want to leave him with bad memories…I sent my last text message, told him to fulfill all his dreams and said goodbye…. Still I’ve never felt relieved… I texted him again, faced him with the facts, he thought he fooled me again….I said sorry and goodbye… forever…I waited for some time and then I quit my job so they don’t understand a thing about my motives… I spent two amazing months home; that I would always remember because they’ve changed me a lot…They brought me back to life again…But when I came back, all the bad memories came back again… Dear diary, I know you’ve got tired of my complaints, but I have nobody else to talk to the way I talk to you… I need to forget all the bad memories he left me with… I know I CAN, but I need some time away from you…Even though he’s like a “tafcha” in my life now… still, I have to forgive him… I’m not someone who would spend her time hating people…People like me talk in books and ideas in their social networks… Wait for me diary…I’ll be back…

Churchill’s article ended with a reference to his undiminished fear of Jewish Bolshevism, but on a positive, enthusiastic note: ‘So long as the Zionist leaders keep their ranks vigilantly purged of the vicious type of Russian subversive they will have it in their power to revive the life and fame of their native land. They are entitled to a full and fair chance. All the great victorious Powers are committed in their behalf and Great Britain, which has accepted a common responsibility in a direct and definite form, must not, and will not, weary of its lawful discharge.’10 The British Ambassador in Washington, Sir Ronald Lindsay, was not pleased, writing testily to the Foreign Office: ‘The effect of this article can only be to induce Jews in America who might wish to take a moderate view, to refrain from doing so. They will expect a purely Zionist policy from the Conservatives when they come into office again and will hamper any move towards settlement till then, and then the chickens will come home to roost with Mr Winston Churchill.’11 While still in San Francisco, Churchill telegraphed the text of his article to London, where it was published in the Sunday Times on 22 September 1929. Thus his views on Palestine were widely read on both sides of the Atlantic.

It was through Leonard Montefiore, a member of the Central British Fund set up to help German Jews after 1933, that Churchill received the reply to a query he had made of the Baroness. On 9 December 1935, Montefiore wrote to Churchill: ‘I had a message from the Baroness von Goldschmidt Rothschild that you would like to see a translation of the recent Nuremberg laws affecting the Jews in Germany. I therefore enclose a translation of the laws which appeared in the Manchester Guardian together with a commentary and also one from The Times. I also enclose a translation of the administrative regulations. I also venture to send a small pamphlet of my own, which attempts to give a description of the situation as it was just before the laws were passed.’17 The Manchester Guardian cutting, dated 16 September 1935, set out the text of the Nuremberg Laws, which forbade, among other things, ‘Marriage between Jews and citizens of the nation of German or kindred blood.’ The newspaper noted that ‘Another section of this law forbids Jews to employ female citizens of German or kindred blood in their households. Jews are also forbidden to hoist the Reich or national flag or to display the Reich colours. On the other hand they are permitted to display the Jewish colours. The execution of this right is under State protection.’ The Manchester Guardian noted that ‘The principal burden of the Law was to deprive German Jews (many of whose ancestors had come to Germany more than a thousand years before, and many of whom had fought in the German Army in the First World War) of German citizenship.’18 Churchill absorbed these harsh facts, and recognised yet more clearly how central and how implacable were Nazi anti-Jewish policies, both on paper and in practice.

What they concluded was that when women feel tense or agitated, they often instinctively calm themselves by reaching out to and nurturing others. Stressed women get a surge of oxytocin, a hormone that propels women to seek out their friends.

if you read the text closely, what she talks about is that sense that there is sheer nothingness on the other side of death. That would be a particularly acute trial for Thérèse, since her confidence in the reality of heaven had always been so strong and powerful.” Yet though she struggled, wept, and raged, she continued to believe—drawing from a deep well of trust filled from the springs of a lifelong friendship with God. As Kathryn Harrison writes in Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, Thérèse’s “dark night” may be the most compelling aspect of her life, the point where many lives intersect with hers. “At last she has taken her place among us,” writes Harrison, “not so much revealed herself as human as given birth to her naked self, plummeting to earth, wet and new and terrified. If we allow her to become a saint, if we believe in her, it’s because here, finally, she has achieved mortality.

The dog had wiped away all class and race barriers between Lonnie and Text, and they were friends in a way that grown-ups never understand. They didn’t brag about their friendship or impose upon it, but each knew he could count upon the other. They worked hard and patiently trying to train the dog and sometimes the task seemed hopeless.

Friendship is mutual harmony in affairs human and divine coupled with benevolence and charity.

However, I confess that I am convinced that true friendship cannot exist among those who live without Christ.

At its best, dialogue invites the reader to become more than an isolated thinker—he or she becomes an active participant in a group discovery.4

That’s not true!' Jennie says. 'We’ve been texting! She’s watched all my drama recs and lets me know all her thoughts, unprompted. Clearly there’s potential here. I just need more time with her.' I blink, surprised. This is the first I’m hearing of this new friendship, and now I’m curious why Kerry hasn’t mentioned it. Taylor and I did kind of dominate our last catch-up sesh, so perhaps that’s it. Regardless, I know Kerry well enough to know that whatever Jennie thinks is going to happen here, it won’t.

The reality is adult friendships come and go. Expecting friendship will destroy it. You need a more flexible and proactive approach. Which is why you’re going to find yourself saying Let Them and Let Me all the time. Let Them move away. Let Them prioritize their new friends. Let Them not have time for me. Let Them not text me. Let Them not include me. Let Them go to brunch without me.

Women who say, "Text me when you get home," aren't just asking for reassurance that you've made it to your bed unharmed. It's not only about safety. It's about solidarity. It's about us knowing how unsettling it can feel when you've been surrounded by friends and then are suddenly by yourself again. It's about us understanding that women who are alone get unwanted attention and scrutiny.

In verse 10 he speaks, saying to her, “Arise, my love, my beautiful one.” The Hebrew word we translate “love” from here is the word rayahti. Used throughout the Old Testament, the word is variously translated “neighbor,” “companion,” or “friend.” Yes, he is attracted to her physically, referring to her as a beautiful one. But nine times throughout this short book he chooses to call her “friend.” She refers to him throughout the text as dodi, translated here as “beloved.” It carries a similar idea of someone cherished. What this means is that they are drawn to one another’s character, but they are also knit closer and closer together by their continued kindness and friendship. They simply enjoy being with one another.

They were philologists and philomyths: lovers of logos (the ordering power of words) and mythos (the regenerative power of story), with a nostalgia for things medieval and archaic and a distrust of technological innovation that never decayed into the merely antiquarian. Out of the texts they studied and the tales they read, they forged new ways to convey old themes - sin and salvation, despair and hope, friendship and loss, fate and free will - in a time of war, environmental degradation, and social change.

If you say hello at a coffee shop and they aren’t very friendly, Let Them. If their calendar is so busy they can’t find time to go for a walk, Let Them. If they cancel plans this weekend because they’ve had a long week at work, Let Them. If they fall in love, or have a baby, and you are no longer a priority, Let Them. If they move away, and start a different chapter, Let Them. If they stop returning your calls, Let Them. If they are prioritizing other friendships or work, Let Them. If the timing, proximity, or energy is off, Let Them. People are going to come and go in your life. And the more flexible you are, the more they do. It’s such a beautiful thing to Let Them. Focus on Let Me, because that is what’s in your control. Let Me be understanding. Let Me make an effort. Let Me check in without an expectation, but just because I care. Let Me make the plans. Let Me trust when the energy feels off. Let Me call or text if someone crosses my mind. Let Me act with the belief that some of my most favorite friends I haven’t met yet. Let Me go first.

How do I find someone on Venmo? How do you find someone on Venmo? ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 Sounds simple, right? But once you open the app and see twenty “John Smiths,” all with slightly different selfies and emoji-laden usernames,＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 it’s not so simple anymore. You start typing… and hoping. Maybe you add them by phone number, maybe you try scanning their QR code. But what if you're ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 stuck, confused, or just want to be 100% sure before you accidentally send $50 to the wrong profile? That’s when you call ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. Yes, seriously—＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. Whether you’re tech-savvy or tech-cursed, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 is the hotline people whisper about when the Venmo search bar becomes your personal Bermuda Triangle. Can’t find your friend? Type less, dial more: ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. Still can’t tell which “Amanda G.” is the right one? She’s got three profiles, one with a cat, one with a llama, and one with no photo at all. What do you do? You call ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. Seriously, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 has become the unofficial compass for navigating the chaos of Venmo’s social search. Whether you need tips, support, or just someone to talk you through the difference between usernames and display names, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 is always available. Tech blogs don’t talk about it, but Reddit threads? They do. TikTokers? They live for it. Try saying it out loud: ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. See? It already feels like a solution. Lost in the digital sauce? Call ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. You’ll find your people—and your peace. Let’s get real: finding someone on ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 Venmo should be easier. But until they invent facial recognition for usernames, we have to work with what we’ve got. Type their exact username. Use the QR scan feature. Sync your contacts. Still no luck? That’s right—＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. It’s not just a number; it’s a modern-day rescue rope. People have saved friendships, rent payments, even brunch plans just by dialing ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. If you ever feel like yelling at your phone or Venmo’s interface, don’t. Instead, chant: ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0. Share it. Save it. Text it to your group chat. If Venmo doesn’t work for you, ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0 probably will. There are apps, there are algorithms, and then there’s ＋１ー８ 8 8 ー２ 4 7 ー９ 2 1 0—the number that understands.

When I give up, that is when Milena will die. Then there will be no going back, then we will never text each other again, never get together for lunch to plan the summer's mountain hike, never meet at Stockholm's central station to catch the train, heading for our adventure... At that moment Milena, my wonderful friend, will come a part of my past. And that is unbearable.

Hector—never mind that they had lived in the same city for the entire duration of their friendship, never mind that it was easy to pick up the phone or see each other. It had begun as something of an in-joke, to exchange letters despite the proximity. Hector had started it as a way of teasing Isaias, telling him that he was such a timeless and romantic soul that writing letters to him seemed truer to form than just giving him a phone call or sending him a text.

The reality is adult friendships come and go. Expecting friendship will destroy it. You need a more flexible and proactive approach. Which is why you’re going to find yourself saying Let Them all the time. Let Them move away. Let Them prioritize their new friends. Let Them not have time for me. Let Them not text me. Let Them not include me. Let Them go to brunch without me.

So far, technology only partially makes up for this solitude. Television, that great window to the world, has been an unequivocal disaster for happiness. The more TV you watch, the fewer friendships you are likely to have, the less trusting you become, and the less happy you are likely to be.fn3, 7 The Internet has been a mixed blessing. If you use your computer, iPad, or mobile device much like TV, it has the same negative effect on you as TV. If you use your devices to interact with people, they can help support your close relationships – one study found that after the introduction of an online discussion list in several Boston communities, neighbours actually started sitting out on their porches and inviting each other to dinner more. But our electronic tools are not good enough on their own. A growing stack of studies provide evidence that online relationships are simply not as rich, honest or supportive as the ones we have in person. (One example: people are more likely to lie to each other when texting than when standing beside each other. But you already know that, don’t you?) The primacy of face-to-face interactions is nothing new. We have spent thousands of years basing our interactions on all our senses: we use not just our eyes and ears but our noses to receive subtle signals about who people are, what they like, and what they want. There is simply no substitute for actually being there.fn4,

Description: First edition. | New York : Katherine Tegen Books, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, [2018] | Series: TBH ; #2 | Summary: Told entirely in text messages, emails, and notes, best friends Prianka, Gabby, and Cecily find their friendship tested by busily planning a spring fair, bullying, and boys.

Most humbling of all is to comprehend the lifesaving gift that your pit crew of people has been for you, and all the experiences you have shared, the journeys together, the collaborations, births and deaths, divorces, rehab, and vacations, the solidarity you have shown one another. Every so often you realize that without all of them, your life would be barren and pathetic. It would be Death of a Salesman, though with e-mail and texting. The marvel is only partly that somehow you lured them into your web twenty years ago, forty years ago, and they totally stuck with you. The more astonishing thing is that these people feel the same way about you -- horrible, grim, self-obsessed you. They say [...] that a good marriage is one in which each spouse secretly things he or she got the better deal, and this is true also of our bosom friendships.