Quotes About Comfort

Books were an antidepressant, a powerful SSRI.

Wasn't one of the goals of life to comfortable in your own skin and in your own bed and on your own land? But as soon as you achieved it, you felt an immense sadness, and then you wanted to wreck everything around you, just because you could. Comfort was the best thing, and maybe the worst.

He couldn't tell her that what he wanted now, more than anything, was to fall asleep beside her. No touching, no kissing, no stimulation. No sensation, no consciousness. Just the act of sleeping beside someone you liked to be with. Maybe that was love.

She sometimes said, "I don't know," even when she did know. What she meant was that it was more comfortable to stay in vagueness than to leave it.

Will you be okay? I do not mean in a cosmic sense.

I don't know,' Greer said to Zee, aware of a kind of familiar vagueness sweeping around her. She sometimes said, 'I don't know,' even when she did know. What she meant was that it was more comfortable to stay in vagueness than to leave it.

Jonah couldn't tell her that what he wanted now, more than anything, was to fall asleep beside her. No touching, no kissing, no stimulation. No sensation, no consciousness. Just the act of sleeping beside someone you liked to be with. Maybe that was love.

They knew each other most deeply through body-warmed sheets and the tangle of half dreams.

Remember who you are, May." The balm of my mother's oft-repeated words and the softness of memory banished my unease. I flew down the stairs to the party.

I make you nervous," he said. She frowned. "Of course you don't." He clearly did, and that, perversely, made him feel.. relaxed...

A good sister is one who won't be embarrassed when you burst into tears in public. A better one will hand you tissues until you stop. The best is the one who will go get you another latte to go with the ginormous chocolate orgy she's already laid in front of you.

Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy.

Bess hadn't ever been good with change. She'd never been good with taking leaps of faith, or risks or changes. When something worked, she tended to stick with it. Even when something didn't.

I love you,' I told him. It was not the first time, but I didn't want it to be the last. Austin gathered me close and breathed into my hair, his big hands hot and restless on my back. 'I love you, too.

Sunny could think of lots of reasons about why the angel was crying, but the one that felt the best to her was that the angel wept so Sunny didn't have to.

I didn't emerge from the cocoon of my past to become an uninhibited, emotionally healthy butterfly. Nothing is ever that easy. Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

Chill, sister golden hair." -Brian

It's easy to love someone when they're all you know.

Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

This book is for a black light, a bottom bunk and a hug, For a doorway, a pair of kicked-off shoes and the width of a kitchen table, And as ever and always, for a blue bathrobe, a million miles of legs and a whole lot of hair. Everything that came before you is a memory, but you are the real and constant thing.

Hold me close,

pain clinging to me—like a good friend,

Words can be used as a bomb or balm.

Jessica..." The sound of his voice saying my name soothed me, and it's all I wanted to hear him say. Just my name, over and over and over again in his buttery baritone. I wanted my name to be his mantra, the word he meditated on, his tool for finding calm in the world. But he kept on talking.