Best 1738 quotes in «comfort quotes» category

IN THE HANDS OF MAN He who creates a poison, also has the cure. He who creates a virus, also has the antidote. He who creates chaos, also has the ability to create peace. He who sparks hate, also has the ability to transform it to love. He who creates misery, also has the ability to destroy it with kindness. He who creates sadness, also has the ability to to covert it to happiness. He who creates darkness, can also be awakened to produce illumination. He who spreads fear, can also be shaken to spread comfort. Any problems created by the left hand of man, Can also be solved with the right, For he who manifests anything, Also has the ability to Destroy it.

In the minds of most people, there is a conflict which is black skin is associated with plowing and white “European” skin with comfort

I remember as a child scrambling among the brilliants of books or, battered with agonies, or in the spectral half-life that requires loneliness, retiring to the attic, to lie curled in a great body-molded chair in the violet-lavender light from the window. There I could study the big adze-squared beams that support the roof--see how they are mortised on into another and pined in place with oaken dowels. When it rains from rustling drip to roar on the roof, it i s a fine secure place. Then the books, tinted with light, the picture books of children grown, seeded, and gone...

I remember her words to me when I left school: Your mind will be your comfort. It is, sometimes. And sometimes it isn't.

I roamed alone; O, barren dreams. My echoed voice, what lonely comfort. Here is my salvation: I hear the triumph drum; the rhythm of the rising, the long-awaited sun.

[..] I sensed it was finally safe to ask the question without seeming like an ingrate. God? Where were you? For 107 days where were you? Where were you in my unconsciousness and where were you in that hospital room when I wanted to feel your presence with fireworks and explosions of emotions and supernatural palpability? Where were you, God? [...] I was there, my child, [...] I was the peace, I was the breath, I was the comfort.

I slept and I woke. She gave me a ring made from a leaf, a cluster of golden berries, a flower that opened and closed at the stroking of a finger.... And once, when I startled awake with my face wet and my chest aching, she reached out to lay her hand on top of mine. The gesture was so tentative, her expression so anxious, you would think she had never touched a man before. As if she was worried I might break or burn or bite. Her cool hand lay on mine for a moment, gentle as a moth. She squeezed my hand softly, waited, then pulled away. It struck me as odd at the time. But I was too clouded with confusion and grief to think clearly. Only now, looking back, do I realize the truth of things. With all the awkwardness of a young lover, she was trying to comfort me, and she didn't have the slightest idea how.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

I squeezed his hand, so tight it likely pained him. But sometimes comfort needed to sting more than the sorrow for it to break into the grief.

It always feels good and comforting to relax whilst there is work to be done but, it feels fulfilling to work hard, overcome slothfulness and challenges with tenacity and achieve your aim when you should have relaxed

It all I can do not to cry. I make myself wood I say to myself, Celie, you a tree. That's how I come to know trees fear man.

It [Foucault's Pendulum] can be very comforting for people of my generation, who ate disappointment for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I think he's looking for comfort, but I don't have any to give.

The dead do not become stars or ghosts. in fact, they are hardly undone. Soon their randomly dispersed parts reappear one by one on foreign hosts- the beloved ear or freckled arm, separate as a milagro or bracelet charm. It is not grotesque, though odd. Even a piece does us some good. “Charms

It is a comfort to hear the words of God in times of stress.

I think of these desert years of mine, not of my choosing. Maybe if it were all smooth and comfortable, if my pride and professionalism were defining life for me, God's steel-quiet, penetrating word would have been lost in the babble and sheen of success.

I throw my arms around her without even thinking first, the way I used to with Daddy when he came home from a trip. "Thank you," I say into her waist. Her clothes smell so good. I feel her hand resting on my head, and for that second I feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Not when there's Miss Mary to hug.

It is an unwritten rule of life that when you are in acute pain and have no one to console you, someone, from somewhere, will emerge in your life to offer you comfort. However, ‘that’ someone will vanish from the scene once you begin to regain grip on your life, leaving you with another sense of loss to nurse.

It is a great truth that you will rise again. It is a sweeter truth that you will "always be with the Lord." Whatever else you draw comfort from, neglect not this deep, clear, and over-flowing well of delight. There are other sources of good cheer in connection with the glory to be revealed, for heaven is a many-sided joy, but still none can excel the glory of communion with Jesus Christ, wherefore comfort one another in the first place and most constantly, with these words, "So we will always be with the Lord.

it is an ocean of burning oil I am cast adrift upon, no sea’s repose; I pass from waking agonies… to the semiconscious trance of torment in which the smaller, earlier, deeper rings of the brain know only that the nerves scream, the body aches, and there is no one to turn crying to for comfort.

It is better to explore a gainful uncertainty than to sit in a painful certainty.

It is better to have God over your shoulder, than carry the world alone on your back.

It is better to heal than harm.

It is better to hope than be un-happy.

It is uncomfortable to keep your dreams in a house just behind a public toilet; your dreams will surely attract bad odours from the waste products of people in detracting environments. Keep it away from negative people!

It is not good to be too free. It is not good to have all one needs. (Page 11)

It’s about needing to feel loved and comforted but feeling unworthy of real love and comfort. It’s about hating having needs and desires. For some of us, needs make us feel greedy and selfish. For some of us, having needs means we can easily get hurt if those needs are not met. For some of us, we don’t believe we deserve to have our needs met. We try to convince ourselves that we don’t need anything by avoiding food, one of our greatest primal needs.

It's better to be happy than comfortable, if you can't have both.

It’s comforting to me,” he added, “that beauty can come from violence, if only in metaphor.

It's always comforting to tell yourself things are going to be alright, because even if a part of you senses that you're lying, it's comforting to shut it out- shut out reality and pretend- because pretending is nice.

It's ironic how your comfort zone can be tiring sometimes.

It’s going to be okay, Eric," Urte said, helping me sit up. I shook my head. "Lying is my forte, Urte, not yours.” (Eric.)

it’s hard giving out love to people who shove it back in your face. That’s not what love’s supposed to be about. No, it’s not perfect and people get hurt, but it’s a give and take. And it should be comfort, not pain.

It was a huge comfort to have a person who'd keep you honest with yourself and who also gave you safe harbour.

It's not your job to judge or to decide if someone deserves something. It's your job to lift the fallen and comfort the broken.

It was a powerful feeling, to comfort someone.

It’s not that rich people are comfortable about money because they’re rich, but that they’re rich because they’re comfortable.

It was such a relief to be able to sob and have someone know all the reasons why.

It was the best night in he had had in a long time, maybe ever. Finally, as he told her goodbye, he knew he had some things to take care of when he got back home. Chicago was home now. As long as she was there, it was his home.

I've tried praying. It gives me comfort. But not as much as a cup of tea and a ginger nut biscuit.

I’ve learned more from discomfort than I could ever have learned from pleasure.

I want to be walking down this street with Mama, headed where we're headed. But her hand in mine makes me feel like I'm not alone in this world where you can't always see what's in front of you.

I want to learn how to speak to anyone at any time and make us both feel a little bit better, lighter, richer, with no commitments of ever meeting again. I want to learn how to stand wherever with whoever and still feel stable. I want to learn how to unlock the locks to our minds, my mind, so that when I hear opinions or views that don’t match up with mine, I can still listen and understand. I want to burn up lifeless habits of following maps and to-do lists, concentrated liquids to burn my mind and throat and I want to go back to the way nature shaped me. I want to learn to go on well with whatever I have in my hands at the moment in a natural state of mind, certain like the sea. I will find comfort in the rhythm of the sea.

I was recently living more comfortably surrounded by secrets... Like dozens of luxurious satiny pillows, they were embracing me from all directions into safe lulling warmth, thus isolating me from the sharp dead-cold edges of the truth hiding behind their endearingly smooth textures and tender soothing colours. Secrets could be so irresistibly beautiful...

Living is death; dying is life. We are not what we appear to be. On this side of the grave we are exiles, on that, citizens; on this side, orphans, on that, children; on this side, captives; on that, freemen; on this side, disguised, unknown; on that, disclosed and proclaimed as the sons of God.

I will continue to exist in all these little moments. where we took the first dip of love and my heart skipped a beat. Our first walk, the first touch which burnt my soul, that first rain, the first kiss, the first comfortable silence between us. How many years may pass, Whenever I am sitting near the window and its raining or whenever I am sitting by a fireside and its cold, There will always be a piece of me which reminds me of you. It will stay in this moment forever.

I wish I’d known those words on the day I watched those German troops land, plane-load after plane-load of them—and come off ships down in the harbor! All I could think of was damn them, damn them, over and over. If I could have thought the words "the bright day is done and we are for the dark," I’d have been consoled somehow and ready to go out and contend with circumstance—instead of my heart sinking to my shoes.

Living in ease and comfort like a white man is a curse

Look to nature for comfort and believe... Each sunrise brings hope Each wave in the ocean brings joy Each drifting cloud brings relief Each gust of wind steers positive thoughts our way Each sparkling star fills our hearts with love and light

Loosing someone in our life (family members, friends, partner, and etc) might be hurt..but normal..is that because any relationship are never ending song of joy, happiness, love, comfort, respect and being that will always be remembered; we sometimes forget the lyrics fortunately always remember the tune..the verse might be different but the song remain the same...(Ejump,2016)