Best 1738 quotes in «comfort quotes» category

Everyone plays guitar alone, but we can play side by side.

Except for our pompous means of comfort, human condition is not much different from animal condition - we are tormented each day with animal like anxieties, insecurities and fears, and each torment makes us believe that perhaps having more comfort will change our condition, but it never does, rather, it only shoves us deeper into the abyss of psychological darkness.

Fag Bush Betty leaned against the sink and the supports whined under her weight, but she leaned anyway and picked stuff out of her teeth, using the mirror as a reference. She stopped after a few crevices and looked at herself. I’d seen a ton of women give themselves that look to themselves in the mirror before. Those eyes were searching for the answer. The way her eyebrows made her forehead wrinkle up, and her chapped lips and skin that was loose on parts of body gave her a very gaunt texture and appearance. I didn’t need a change of light or a particular aimed luminescence to see the extreme parts of her. I could see her spine, and every bone in it. She turned the faucet on and ran water into her hands, splashing it onto her face and letting the beads run down her cheeks, over the edge of her chin and down beside the veins in her neck. “I do that sometimes too,” I said. She turned her head with her back still facing me. “That, right there, stand above the sink and using the water like that,” I said, “never helps though, but it’s funny how it makes your eyes burn. I’ll take a shower sometimes and get real clean. I’ll wash everything. Later that night I’ll have a freak out and walk over to the sink, same as you, naked as hell. I’ll splash water on my face but still when it gets in my eyes it burns. Like there’s some dirt or sweat that I missed while in the shower. It always happens that way. I can’t seem to get everything, and my eyes just… burn. Sometimes the sweat really makes them sting. And there’s nothing you can really do about it, ya have to let it burn until it washes out.

Father, be my comfort in this dark times.

Foggy nights bring some comfort. He can get lost in the mist and there is no one to stare or question.

For it is up to you and me to take solace in nostalgia's arms and our ability to create the everlasting from fleeting moments.

For so long, maybe all my life, I thought only a house could make you whole. I thought I was nothing without an interesting address. I thought I was only as good as my color scheme, my drawer pulls, my floors....it's the knowledge that a house can be as fragile as life itself. You'd think it would be stronger, since it can stand in one spot for centuries while generations of humans run through tis rooms, grow up, move out, and eventually die. But a house is an inherently limited entity. It can't do everything, or even most things. I t cannot give you a personality. It cannot bring you love. It cannot cure loneliness. It can provide comfort, safety, a sense of pride--that much I know.

George's hand lifted and fell away again. It seemed an insult to imply that anything so small as a touch could stop the raw feeling in Sir Stephen's suddenly dark and haunted eyes.

For so long, maybe all my life, I thought only a house could make you whole. I thought I was nothing without an interesting address. I thought I was only as good as my color scheme, my drawer pulls, my floors....it's the knowledge that a house can be as fragile as life itself. You'd think it would be stronger, since it can stand in one spot for centuries while generations of humans run through its rooms, grow up, move out, and eventually die. But a house is an inherently limited entity. It can't do everything, or even most things. It cannot give you a personality. It cannot bring you love. It cannot cure loneliness. It can provide comfort, safety, a sense of pride--that much I know.

from the prose poem "The Universe Thrums on regardless" in my book SPAN. We are almost nothing in the night. Reduced to warm blobs and the sound of breathing. There is comfort in that.

Give me a moon-blanket night to keep me warm a long-gone smile to comfort me a pair of rain-blue eyes to haunt me a simple soul ...to love me.

Forsake it in the morning. Do not ring it the next day. Make no commitment to comfort.

God doesn’t comfort us to make us comfortable, but to make us comforters.

God and the Angels can and want to assist you with all aspects of your life. Your happiness and life is their primary mission.

God's forgot that ever I lived... He's forgot...and He never cared, nohow...." He smoothed her brown, rough-palmed hand; he held her hands to keep her from jerking herself away from his admonishing: "Oh, 'tis not true, the words yere a-sayin', Cean Smith; and well ye know it. Never does He forget a child o' His'n. 'Tis His children that forget that He is rememberin'. Get on yere knees and climb on them up to the shelter o' His arms. Knock on His ears with yere prayers. Creep into His arms, Cean Smith, and lay yere head on His bosom, and He'll hold ye closer than inny man ye ever love can ever hold ye. He'll lay His hand on yere head and ye'll stop yere restless fightin' against His will. He'll shut yere pitiful little mouth from complainin' against Him. Ye'll hush and be comforted...." She dared him to prove his saying: "Then pray fer Him to do them things fer me!" He prayed; and when he had finished, Cean's will was as water to God's will, and Cean's tears were softening and healing to her heart.

God knows exactly where we are and precisely where He wants us and He takes an active role in getting us there.

God wants to use you as a divine show room, where the poor, the wearied and the depressed will find comfort and recreation! You got to be kind. It's a sign that you have conquered greed!

God is my happy place

God sovereignly controls every detail of your life, which should be a great comfort to you.

Good morning. Your very presence is intoxicating. Good night. Your very absence is sobering.

Good luck' is like the shadow of a tree, for some time it gives comfort to a traveler but it doesn't go ahead with a traveler.

Hana?" Lena says softly. "Are you okay?" That single stupid question breaks me. All the metal fingers relax me at once, and the tears they've been holding back come surging up at once. Suddenly I am sobbing and telling her everything: about the raid, and the dogs, and the sounds of skulls cracking underneath regulator's nightsticks. Thinking about it again makes me feel like I might puke. At a certain point, Lena puts her arms around me and starts murmuring things into my hair. I don't even know what she's saying, and I don't care. JUst having her here—solid, real, on my side—makes me feel better than I have in weeks. Slowly I manage to stop crying, swallowing back the hiccups and sobs that are still running through me. I try to tell her that I've missed her, and that I've been stupid and wrong, but my voice is muffled and thick

Hannah's magic cure for every ill," he teased. "Blueberry cake and a kitten.

Have some more tea, dear," Hester said, reaching for the pot and refilling my cup. "I always find that helps.

Has every line inside of you been crossed? Is there anything left unviolated? Are you so comfortable with your imprisonment you feel free?

Having her favorite breakfast always made her feel cozy, like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her.

Having a rather pessimistic outlook on life makes for the best philosophical discussions; distress is the only real reason to question something; comfort often leads to the inability to change.

Heaven is a place where all the dogs you've ever loved come to greet you.

He closed the makeshift plywood door, sealing the space so Ethan would not have to hear any sounds from the outside world: not the voices of men, not the scream of steam engines as they arrived at the nearby station. The only sounds would be of their bodies breathing, of their clothes rustling, of skin moving against soft skin. The shack was small and humble, but it was cozy and private, and lit with a light that did not seem to come entirely from the lantern. Afterword, Ethan wept, and Love whispered things meant to make him feel safe. Were it possible, he would have traded his immortality to remain with this beautiful soul, to concentrate all that love on a human who needed it so.

He'd read once that in everyone's life there was somebody who touched a spot so deep, so precious, that the mind always retreated, in time of need, to that cherished place, seeking comfort within memories that never seemed to disappoint.

He grinned again. We'd only been seeing each other for a few weeks now, but this easy give-and-take still surprised me. From that very first day in my room, I felt like we'd somehow skipped the formalities of the Beginning of a Relationship: those awkward moments when you're not all over each other and are still feeling out the other person's boundaries and limits. Maybe this was because we'd been circling each other for a while before he finally catapulted through my window. But if I let myself think about it much - and I didn't - I had flashes of realising that I'd been comfortable with him even at the very start. Clearly, he'd been comfortable with me, grabbing my hand as he had that first day. As if he knew, even then, that we'd be here now.

He had performed this ritual before, getting into trouble and then coming to his mother, uneasy and uncertain, not sure precisely what sort of trouble he was in. With uncanny regularity, she had seemed to jump onto a higher plane of reasoning and identify his problems, laying them out for him so they became unavoidable. This was not a service that made him love her any more, but it did make her invaluable to him.

Her arms groped forward to guide her when her tears blocked her vision in darkness. Then she couldn't run any more. She sank to her knees and began to cry in her terror. She wanted Gary. She suddenly felt strong arms around her. She bent her head to bury it in Gary's shoulder, trembling in the darkness. Whimpering like a small animal in a trap, she pushed herself closer to him and said in a choked voice, "I'm so frightened!" "I know, my love," the voice said. "I'm so sorry you were hurt." She felt herself being pulled up to him, his grip around her tight. It was a strange feeling in this pitch-black hallway, where not even the light of the moon cast any illumination. The lips she touched were cold and yet they responded to her with an unusual warmth. His hands massaged her back. Something, Melanie thought, was wrong with that. The hands were too smooth, not like a plastered wrist would feel. "Gary?" she asked, backing away. She didn't trust what she couldn't see. "My love," the voice whispered, "there is no need to fear now. I shall protect you from those who mean you harm.

He’ll never let you leave his side again.” “And there is comfort in knowing that, as there will be for Yuri. It is a great thing to be needed by another.

He put his arms around me. We were both feeling miserable. How were we to know we were happy, even then? Because we at least had that: arms, around.

Here is a minute. It may be my love is dead, but here is a minute to kneel over the grave and pray by it.

He reminds me of a comfortable sweater that you pull on, knowing it will keep you warm every time.

Here's a comforting thought for you, Peter,' he said. 'However long you may live, the world will never lose its ability to surprise you with its beauty.

He returned her gaze, yearning for sentimental solace; love which emanated from a familiar source, mattered little how bedevilling. They shared an intimate moment, a silent tête-à-tête, which seemed to confront doubts each harboured.

Her shoes were comfortable. They reflected her hope for the evening.

Heraclitus said, 'The sun is new each day.' I hope we will use our time on earth wisely and that our troubled world will focus more on compassion, understanding, and peaceful coexistence, finding new ways to bind humanity together in love and wisdom.

Here was the same murmuring quiet, broken only by an occasional whisper, the faint thud of a librarian stamping books or overdue notices, the hushed riffle of newspaper or magazine pages being turned. He loved the quality of the light as much now as then. It slanted through the high windows, gray as a pigeon's wing on this rainy afternoon, a light that was somehow somnolent and dozey.

Her eyes were glistening, but for some reason he couldn't reach out and touch her. It was like some gestures were so simple they were beyond him.

Her short blond hair shifted in the wind, and she appeared the very definition of peace and comfort. Like she belonged in the world that had existed before everything was scorched.

He stretched out on the bed and was suddenly struck by how utterly lonely he was.

Hey. Know what happened to me today?" He sits back and crosses his arms, smiles. "No. What happened to you today?" "Well, I decided to take the bus to work instead of driving? And I got on and I sat behind this woman who started crying. She was very quiet about it, just every now and then she would reach up and wipe away a tear. She had this kerchief on her head, this ratty old flowered kerchief, but it was clean and it was tied very neatly, you know. And she had her purse on her lap and she was holding on to it like it was hands. At first nobody else seemed to notice she was crying, but then everybody around her did. And it got very quiet. And then finally this man got up from the back of the bus, and he came up and sat next to her and put his arm around her, and he didn't say a word, but just stared straight ahead with his arm around her and she kept crying, but it was better now, you could tell, she kind of had a little smile even though she was still crying. And I don't know if he even knew her! I think everybody was wondering the same thing: Does he even know her? I guess he must have known her; otherwise she probably would have leaped up and started screaming or something, but you never know! You just never know, it might have been someone whose heart went out to her because she was crying. And he decided he would comfort her. And she let him. And I think it was a kind of miracle. A living parable or something.

He was really trying to be my friend, without all the emotional baggage we both carried - mine still with me, but carefully folded in vacuum bags so they'd occupy as little room as possible and his, hangin on his shoulders like lead armor, making him slouch sometimes. And yet, as pinned down as he was, he was the one comforting me, supporting not only his weight but mine, too. It wasn't fair.

Hope is a Heaven to keep you out of Hell. It's hard work believing that it's there.

[his healing skills] ..lay in the ability to comfort, to comfort in the proper sense, to make strong, to fortify

Home should be a warm, liveable place that is alive, a place to please the eye and soothe the senses in scale, curves, colour, variety, pattern and texture. -Josef Frank