Quotes About Comfort

What should the sleeping arrangements be in a ménage-à-trois? Is it polite to read while two people have sex beside you?

Parents don't usually give this kind of response, because they fear that by giving a name to the feeling they'll make it worse. Just the opposite is true. The child who hears the words for what she is experiencing is deeply comforted. Someone has acknowledged her inner experience.

I ran over without a word, cradled PLT tenderly in my arms and carried her upstairs. Placing her on my own bed, I wrapped my mortally wounded pet in my best school scarf and lay down next to her. It was a night of grief I have never forgotten.

She was her mother's favorite saying come to life. The cure for everything is salt water: tears, sweat, or the sea.

How her fist fits my palm, A bunch of consolation.

Lia had mentioned staleness, and I wondered if this was it. Growing old in this town, with these women you've known your entire life, eating cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and rehashing the same gossip week after week. As comfortable as I was in my routine, in my sameness, I could see how that might seem terrifying.

It was a light, soft kiss. Just a peck, really, but the second her lips touched mine, everything inside of me went quiet. Everything in me steadied, calmed, warmed. It was like taking that first good sip of hot chocolate; not the one that burned your mouth, but the one after, when it had cooled to just the right temperature.

You can't build homes out of people, but that didn't stop me from letting Noah burrow her way into my heart. The fireplace in our living room crackled and bloomed as her eyelids drifted slowly shut, and I thought that no matter where we were, no matter what we did, home would always be with her

It is better to be divided by truth than to be united in error. It is better to speak the truth that hurts and then heals, than falsehood that comforts and then kills.

a dozen...chocolate chip cookies...a pot of coffee, and a good book are all I will need for the rainy weekend rolling in.

I have decided that love is only real and true when it makes you feel safe.

Any small thing that reminds me of home is a treasure. Sometimes it's small—a bowl of soup that makes me think of my mother—or it's a color. I saw a blue parasol in the crowd this afternoon that reminded me of the lake by the waterwheel in Schilpario. It's the kind of thing that catches you unaware and fills you with a deep longing for everything you once knew. Don't apologize for loving this tree. If I had a tree, I'd feel the same.

I stay on terra firma under an umbrella with a good book. That's my idea of the shore.

There was no comfort in happy memories; they just made it all seem worse.

The Lord does not simply wipe out their sorrow. He respects it; indeed, he welcomes it.

Words are doctors for the diseased temper.

I asked them: Does it hurt? And the scar people nodded, yes. But it felt somehow wonderful, they said. For one long second, it felt like the world was holding them close.

It is perhaps sad books that best console us when we are sad, and to lonely service stations that we should drive when there is no one for us to hold or love.

Our homes do not have to offer us permanent occupancy or store our clothes to merit the name. To speak of home in relation to a building is simply to recognise its harmony with our own prized internal song. Home can be an airport or a library, a garden or a motorway diner.

The desire for high status is never stronger than in situations where ordinary life fails to answer a median need for dignity and comfort.

what we call a home is merely any place that succeeds in making more consistenly available to us the important truths which the wider world ignores, or which our distracted and irresolute selves have trouble holding onto. (p123) Architecture of Happiness

For many, the point of marriage isn't so much to be in love as to stop having to think of love.

the only difference between the end of love and the end of life being that at least in the latter, we are granted that the comforting thought that we will not feel anything after death. No such comfort for the lover, who knows that the end of the relationship will not necessarily be the end of love, and almost certainly no the end of life.

Our love of home is in turn an acknowledgement of the degree to which our identity is not self.