Quotes About Comfort

Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the details, the better the flavour seems to be.

The best way to keep children home is to make the home a pleasant atmosphere . . . and let the air out of the tires.

Where's the man could ease a heart Like a satin gown?

His voice was a intimate as the rustle of sheets.

The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant --- and let the air out of their tires.

The best way to keep children home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant--and let the air out of the tires.

Each soul has its solace.

Grief works better out loud.

We rarely hear warnings about playing it safe. We don't see headlines that say, ... Man retires after a mediocre career and feels painful remorse for never having laid anything on the line.

A cup of tea would restore my normality.

The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected; I have always considered the rain to be healing—a blanket—the comfort of a friend. Without at least some rain in any given day, or at least a cloud or two on the horizon, I feel overwhelmed by the information of sunlight and yearn for the vital, muffling gift of falling water.

The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected; I have always considered the rain to be healing—a blanket—the comfort of a friend. Without at least some rain in any given day, or at least a cloud or two on the horizon, I feel overwhelmed by the information of sunlight and yearn for the vital, muffling gift of falling water.

dogs sleep on padded beds inside heated homes.

Happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in strangers' gardens.

The lure of safety drags us into lives we'd prefer to dodge.

A strange, pale figure emerged—Pendergast?—and she felt herself suddenly in his arms, lifted bodily as if she were a child again, her head cradled against his chest. She felt his shoulders began to convulse, faintly, regularly, almost as if he was weeping. But that was, of course, impossible, as Pendergast would never cry.

Happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in stranger's gardens.

There's a willow tree that stands by my river She holds me in her arms when I am cold. And we listen to the sounds Of the pebbles on the ground, And I know what it means to be old.

He that loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheerful companion, an effectual comforter.

We rarely improve our habits and traits while floating on the placid pool of ease and comfort.

Fill your house with stacks of books, in all the crannies and all the nooks.

This book is to be read in bed.

Some things can only be understood when you're in a tree house. With a pile of warm chocolate chip cookies. And a book.

Fresher than a pillow with a mint on it.