Quotes About Comfort

He was a man of the very broadest outlook, but he never believed in going anywhere. He had a very sensitive stomach, you know, and that is always a disincentive to travel. If you have a sensitive stomach, it is undoubtedly best to remain at home.

Love and compassion are the only balm

Skepticism had its place, but we should not lose sight of the possibility that some beliefs were both necessary and beneficial--a belief in human goodness being a prime example of this. There were plenty of grounds to doubt human goodness; but if one ceased to believe in it, then we would lose the comfort of trust. And people needed their scraps of comfort in this world if they were to be able to deal with hardship and disappointment.

There was no point in telling somebody not to cry, she had always thought; indeed there were times when you should do exactly the opposite, when you should urge people to cry, to start the healing that sometimes only tears can bring. But if there was a place for tears of relief, there might even be a place for tears of pride[.]

And that somehow made it easier for both of them; and so she had decided that even if there were no angels, we might still wish to believe in them because that made our life more bearable, and she was not ashamed to think like that.

TEA IS ALWAYS THE SOLUTION

and although she'd glibly remarked that you couldn't stand still, was this actually true or was it a hollow axiom as false and misleading as any other trite saying? Why should one not stand still? If the position in which one found oneself standing was a satisfactory and comfortable one? She felt no need, no need at all to move on from being Mma Ramotswe of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, wife that great mechanic, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.

Penury was a matter of hard chairs and mean cushions; prosperity—old money—was a matter of feathers: an absurd reductionist view of it, but at times quite strikingly true.

Hello, honey," he said. "You are a very nice fat lady. I like a soft mattress." She drew in her breath. "Then go home and lie down on your bed," she said. "Go back to your wife. I know her, by the way.

Mma Ramotswe being sad was like a day with no sun, a day with no birdsong at dawn, a day without tea…One could go on, but the essential thing was that Mma Ramotswe should not look sad.

And it was not surprising, perhaps, that he should feel it—this little boy who felt things so deeply; for we all feel that about our friends; we all feel that about those around whom we might put an arm. We all feel that about the darkness into which we go with others and about the very understandable fears that can be so easily dispelled, put to flight, by a simple gesture

And she began to weep, dropping her head onto her forearms and rocking backwards and forwards in that curious motion that is perhaps a subconscious attempt to mimic the movement that brings comfort to a tiny baby. That we should in moments of sorrow seek to return to a time when the harshness of the world could be forfended by the simple reassurances of our parents; that we should do that …

she did look remarkably like a chair—a great, accommodating upholstered armchair. You could certainly sit on Mma Potokwane and feel perfectly comfortable: she was the sort of chair into which one might sink after a hard day's work—sink, and possibly not reappear until hours later, emerging from voluminous feather-filled cushions.

Goodnight, my boy," said the Cardinal. "And God bless." It was a kind thing to say to a dog, and a good thing. Because the least of us, the very least, has the same claim as any other to that love, divine or human, which makes our world, in all its turmoil and pain, easier to comprehend, easier to bear.

Habit to us is given from above: it is a substitute for happiness.

Habit is heaven's gift to us: a substitute for happiness.

I would make my home, with joy and gladness, in a dark forest.

So happy to be home I feel as if I'm swimming in syrup.

The faint of lemon verbena surrounded her, floating gently from Eleanor Butler's silk gown and silken hair. It was the fragrance that had always been part of Ellen O'Hara, the scent for Scarlett of comfort, of safety, of love, of life before the War

I love my job, and I hope people find comfort in knowing there are still people out there who love what they do." —a New York acute care nurse

It is the nurse who holds the hand of a patient without a family, who talks to them while they take their last breaths, who aches for them while they die alone. It is the nurse who cleans the patient's body, wipes away the blood and fluids, and closes his eyes. It is the nurse who says good-bye to the patient for the last time," she said.

We rely on nurses to be our healers, our heroes, to comfort us, to soothe our hurts and salve our psyches. But how often do we pause to wonder who takes care of the nurses?

I have lost my friends, D'Artagnan said ruefully, burying his head in his hands. I have nothing left but the bitterest of recollections... Two large tears rolled down his cheeks. You are young, Athos answered. Your bitter recollections have the time requisite to change into the happiest of memories.

let us call on M. de Monte Cristo; he is admirably adapted to revive one's spirits, because he never interrogates, and in my opinion those who ask no questions are the best comforters.