A Quote by Elizabeth Bowen

We have really no absent friends. — © Elizabeth Bowen
We have really no absent friends.
Absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.
Friends, though absent, are still present.
It is by the benefit of letters that absent friends are in a manner brought together.
To be absent from the iPhone is to be present in the moment. Ignore it. Make some friends.
The interesting thing about an absent father is, for a child, you don't know he's absent. You just think he's... tardy.
The secret motive of the absent-minded is to be innocent while guilty. Absent-mindedness is spurious innocence.
I love what I'm doing here but I hate being away from home. I hate it. I look forward to one day raising a family myself, and I really look forward to children but when that day comes, I don't want to be an absent dad. I'm already an absent husband.
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.
And I'm up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching. I should be drinking a toast to absent friends instead of these comedians.
I see it only that thyself is here, and art and nature, hope and fate, friends, angels and the supreme being shall not be absent from the chamber where thou sittest.
To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.
Isn’t desire always the same, whether the object is present or absent? Isn’t the object always absent? —This isn’t the same languor: there are two words: Pothos, desire for the absent being, and Himéros, the more burning desire for the present being.
Deism, historically, produces atheism. First you make God a landlord, then an absent landlord, then he becomes simply absent.
How enriched life is by friends! Good friends, new friends, old friends, feathered friends, feline friends, friends of friends.
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