Best 238 quotes in «relief quotes» category

Addiction is a repeated temporary...stilling. I am concerned with peace...not mere relief.

Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heart petrifying, my soul contracting; and I trembled lest my very moral perceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right and wrong confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last, beneath the baneful influence of such a mode of life. The gross vapors of earth were gathering around me, and closing in upon my inward heaven; and thus it was that Mr. Weston rose at length upon me, appearing like the morning star in my horizon, to save me from the fear of utter darkness; and I rejoiced that I now had a subject for contemplation that was above me, not beneath.

And as he reached for William's leg, the way a small child will reach for its mother's, there welled up through a small hole in the bottom of Mercer's soul a relief surpassing any he'd ever known in waking life.

another sunset edges towards the trails end all brings that opportunity for a rewind ahead plug for the recharge, loosen the laces for needed relief a beverage, a nutritional morsel, and a soft pillow life is good, thanks once again

And then someone not very far away screamed horribly, which was a great relief, somehow. The Doctor knew exactly what to do when he heard horrible screaming - run towards it and help.

As soon as Mr. Prosser realized that he was substantially the loser after all, it was as if a weight lifted itself off his shoulders: this was more like the world as he knew it.

... beginnings are always reserved for anxiety, middles are for experience, problems and troubleshooting, and only once the beginning and middle have been combined to form a past can room be made for the ending, and relief.

At times we wish that these clouds never came our way for all they bring with them is misery but on others they bring relief. It is their absence that is difficult to get by, to fill, for autumn is near. But then seasons do change.

Because this, as it turned out, was her destiny. Not to be the powerful sorceress her people had been waiting for , not to to be the ruthless killer the assassins needed. Her destiny was to save one person at a time, change things one tiny step after another. It still hurt, a tinge of loss. Her life wouldn't be grand, or dramatic, or momentous. There would be no great choices to make, no moments when everything would change. It would make a dull story if she was ever called upon to tell it. It hurt, yes. But it was also something of a relief.

At the bottom of freshly dug holes, I bury my problems alongside the waxen seeds.

Awoke from nightmare could be a relief.

Blessed be the inventor of photography! I set him above even the inventor of chloroform! It has given more positive pleasure to po or suffering humanity than anything else that has "cast up" in my time or is like to--this art by which even the "poor" can possess themselves of tolerable likenesses of their absent dear ones. And mustn't it be acting favourably on the morality of the country?

Believe in yourself and relief yourself of the undue anxiety of feelings of incompetency. Leave worry aside and live with the hope that your dominion is not determined by people’s negative opinions!

Complaining is a vain way of explaining pain without gaining relief. Keep complains distances away from you.

Communication is like a pressure relief valve for your body. When a little pressure gets cooked up inside and needs to be released, you can gently turn the nozzle and release it slowly and gracefully until you feel better, by way of a productive conversation. But if you choose to ignore the warning signals and leave that pressure inside, it's going to grow and inevitably explode and make a mess, by way of an overreaction and possibly an argument.

Du tilmed og aldrig saa tiilig staar op, At dig jo før høyt over Biergenes Top, Er runden Aurora den røde. End sver jeg, og vidner, at hvilken den Dreng Som opstaar og gaar sig med Solen i Seng, Hand næppelig skal sig forsove; O! Sommer kierkommen til alles Behag, Paa hvilken at Natten lyser som Dag, Og Fugler sin Skabermand love.

Crying relieves pressure on soul.

Does any man have the right to dispose of his own life? This is the ultimate question of moral entitlement, and relevant only if right is relevant in this context, and it is not. A suicidal man cannot be concerned - and nor should he be - with questions of moral entitlement. (And how absurd.) His one concern should be whether self-execution will most expediently relieve his suffering.

Expressing our feelings out loud, especially to someone else, can bring a sense of relief. There is power in proclamation.

Every moment in life is a blessing, even if it bring tears or laughter. As a child of God, you should always keep Ecclesiastes 3:1 to mind.

Female competition is when you are with a guy you like and you look around, see that you're the prettiest girl in the vicinity and feel a huge sense of relief that there's no one to take the attention away from you. (Female competition is a result of women feeling like their greatest sense of self worth , identity and influence comes from their sexual appeal to men. Many women don't even realise they are feeling this way and it's a subconscious thing, but they notice themselves getting jealous when they see other women who they think men would find sexually appealing.)

I release the throwing knife as something I can't place deflates in my chest. It sinks like disappointment. It breathes like relief.

Hope is not a prison.” Sorrel gently squeezed her arm. “Hope should lessen your fears, not intensify them

I finally made eye contact with the boy in the bed. He lay on his side, a tube in his nose and another in his vein. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin was ghostly pale. His hair might have been blond, but it was fading into a gray, making it hard to tell. The only part of this boy that held any life at all were his eyes, which brimmed with tears when he saw me. “Kahlen?” I sat still. These three people all called me by the same name, which sounded sort of like Katlyn and Ellen and made me believe that maybe they actually knew me. “Where did you go? Where have you been? I thought you were dead.” His chest worked overtime, trying to keep up with his mouth, spilling over with words. “Can you get her a pen? Please?” He lifted an arm weakly. It was all bone. “I just need to know.” “A pen?” I asked. Once again his eyes lit up. “You can talk?” I stared at this boy, at how he was overjoyed at one of the most basic things a person could do. “So it would seem.” I smiled. He flopped onto his back, laughing from his gut, and based on Julie’s tears, I was guessing she’d been waiting a long time for that to come back.

If your monetary wealth accumulates naturally and spontaneously, then let it accumulate, but do not lean on it for support. You may take its support and feel a sense of relief, but there is no telling when that support will move away. Therefore, conduct yourself with caution from the beginning so that you are not shaken up during time of painful experiences.

I have no mission. No one has. And it's a terrific relief to realize you're free, free of all missions.

For the artist himself art is not necessarily therapeutic; he is not automatically relieved of his fantasies by expressing them. Instead, by some perverse logic of creation, the act of formal expressions may simply make the dredged-up material more readily available to him.

God only knows the torment of the suffering soul and only he can take away the pain.

Great! Now, that the crybaby whining bullshit is settled, let’s load up on one of these buses and head for the sewers!

All your failures and hopes, your suffering and striving, are inconsequential, compared with this. They are nothing. You are nothing. It was a relief to be nothing; it felt deep and beautiful and true.

I am not a fan of sealed up sterile homes or Faraday cages and their use in human health, although I do understand that some people do feel relief in these environments.

I don’t know why everyone is still trying to find out whether heaven and hell exist. Why do we need more evidence? They exist here on this very Earth. Heaven is standing atop Mount Qasioun overlooking the Damascene sights with the wind carrying Qabbani’s dulcet words all around you. And hell is only four hours away in Aleppo where children’s cries drown out the explosions of mortar bombs until they lose their voice, their families, and their limbs. Yes, hell certainly does exist right now, at this moment, as I pen this poem. And all we’re doing to extinguish this hellfire is sighing, shrugging, liking, and sharing. Tell me: what exactly does that make us? Are we any better than the gatekeepers of hell?

If you want relief from pain just strive to touch more of every part of life.

i have only one way to blow the steam off, i make money, you spend money thats funny,now i'm smilling like thats honey:)

I'm a peasant I'm the muzhik A pest you're destined to play the music And yes it's pleasant to say it's beauty I'm Indebted to rest respecting it truly

In my mind, I built stairways. At the end of the stairways, I imagined rooms. These were high, airy places with big windows and a cool breeze moving through. I imagined one room opening brightly onto another room until I'd built a house, a place with hallways and more staircases. I built many houses, one after another, and those gave rise to a city -- a calm, sparkling city near the ocean, a place like Vancouver. I put myself there, and that's where I lived, in the wide-open sky of my mind. I made friends and read books and went running on a footpath in a jewel-green park along the harbour. I ate pancakes drizzled in syrup and took baths and watched sunlight pour through trees. This wasn't longing, and it wasn't insanity. It was relief. It got me through.

In the midst of aches in the joints, anxiety over the payment of bills, concern for the safety of those you love, envy of the rich, fear of robbers, dog-weariness at the end of a long day, and the unacceptable slipping away of youth, there does occasionally appear, like a ray of light piercing the clouds, a moment of joy. Perhaps you have entered the house and sat down before removing your boots. A friend has pressed a drink into your hands, and is telling you the latest news. You see from his face that he's glad you've come in; and you are glad too. Glad to be sitting down, glad of the warming glow of the dirnk, glad of your friend's furrowed brow and eager speech. For this moment, nothing more is required. It is in its way unimprovable. This is what I mean by the Great Enough.

It is the death of hope that comes as the greatest relief

It’s very difficult to appreciate when you’re doing it all the time in the business. The laughter means so much to people. I suppose at all times, but especially these days. It seems that life is more difficult. It has been for me, and God knows for Gilda. But I think for everyone, they’re looking for a little relief. I used to think, ‘Sure, to get relief, they get a laugh.’ But I didn’t know the laugh meant that much. Sometimes it’s the difference between going to sleep at night depressed and worried about how you’re going to make it; and going through with a little confidence that it will be okay, it will be okay. Cause laughing is good for you. It’s good for the liver. It’s for the soul. It’s good for your whole emotional equipment.

It's uncommon, far from unheard of. The elves and the angels have done it since the dawn of time, penning great epics of beautiful women loving beautiful women. No need for shame, little angel. You are full of surprises." Tears did leak from Flowridia's eyes, but of relief. No more fear.

It's late at night when the memory comes for me, like it always seems to when the relief of sleep seems ready to draw me under.

It wasn't supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.” “It helps—” “No it doesn't. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.” “But I need—” “You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.” “You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable. “It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.

It was a relief to decide you didn't have to decide. It was a relief to have faith in immutability, a relief to lose faith in your ability to change something, even when it was something you'd wish you could change. It was a relief to be imposed on intractably. Acceptance, if not brave, was at least a relief. That was the trick of it.

May we always be burdened with thinking of the suffering of others, for that is what it means to be human.

I wish that the last breath of your life is a sigh of relief.

Maria's blushes were brought on by shame at the laughter she knew Leonard would misunderstand. For hers was the laughter of nervous relief. She had been suddenly absolved from the pressures and rituals of seduction. She would not have to adopt a conventional role and be judged in it, and she would not be measured against other women. Her fear of being physically abused had receded. She would not be obliged to do anything she did not want. She was free, they both were free, to invent their own terms. They could be partners in invention. And she really had discovered for herself this shy Englishman with the steady gaze and the long lashes, she had him first, she would have him all to herself. These thoughts she formulated later in solitude. At the time they erupted in the single hoot of relief and hilarity which she had suppressed to a yelp.

One Pain, Hundred Reliefs!

Modern Christianity, in dramatic reversal of its biblical form, promises to relieve the pain of living in a fallen world. Then message, whether it’s from fundamentalists requiring us to live by a favored set of rules or from charismatics urging a deeper surrender to the Spirit’s power, is too often the same: The promise of bliss is for now! Complete satisfaction can be ours this side of heaven. Some speak of the joys of fellowship and obedience, others of a rich awareness of their value and worth. The language may be reassuringly biblical or it may reflect the influence of current psychological thought. Either way, the point of living the Christian life has shifted from knowing and serving Christ till He returns to soothing, or at least learning to ignore, the ache in our soul.

My tears brought no sense of release or relief. Their flight felt like the lightest, coldest touch of a departing lover.

No matter how it seems now, I must confess: I loved him. I do not think that I will ever love anyone like that again. And this might be a great relief if I did not also know that, when the knife has fallen, Giovanni, if he feels anything will feel relief.