Quotes About Comfort

I don't find it strange that all you want to believe is only that which comforts you. How else do humans invent the traps which betray us into mediocrity? How else do we define cowardice?

The omnipresent enemy was the outside —that total absence of the things to support life that emptiness called space. It was evil and they feared it—constantly. A rod and staff might comfort in the presence of space, but what you dreamed about was washed air and a womblike enclosed cell where you could divest yourself of the damnable suit. This was the true source of comfort no matter if it came from the Devil himself.

He said, 'I'm going to rub your faces in things you try to avoid. I don't find it strange that all you want to believe is only that which comforts you. How else do humans invent the traps which betray us into mediocrity? How else do we define cowardice?

They were permitted their illusions. What a comfort. You could pretend your life was forever, that tomorrow would be better, that the gods in their heavens watched you with care. She recoiled from this lapse with disgust at herself. The unclouded eye was better, no matter what it saw.

We try to copy these patterns in our lives and our society, seeking the rhythms, the dances, the forms that comfort. Yet, it is possible to see peril in the finding of ultimate perfection. It is clear that the ultimate pattern contains its own fixity. In such perfection, all things move toward death.

I give you Muad'Dib's words! He said, 'I'm going to rub your faces in things you try to avoid. I don't find it strange that all you want to believe is only that which comforts you. How else do humans invent the traps which betray us into mediocrity? How else do we define cowardice?' That's what Muad'Dib told you!

They were permitted their illusions. What a comfort. You could pretend your life was forever, that tomorrow would be better, that the gods in their heavens watched you with care.

Cât de tentant este s? ridic?m ziduri înalte È™i s? împiedic?m p?trunderea oric?rei schimb?ri. S? putrezim aici, în confortul mulÈ›umirii de sine.

Did he really want this warm room of his, so comfortably fitted with old family furniture, to be transformed into a cave, in which, no doubt, he would be free to crawl about unimpeded in all directions, but only at the price of rapidly and completely forgetting his human past at the same time?

give me the luxuries of life and I will gladly do without the necessities.

Where is she now, Dad? If there's a heaven, Maggie, she's there and she's queen of it. Is there a heaven, Dad? If there isn't, Maggie, I don't understand God's ways. She doesn't understand my babbling and neither do I because the tears erupt and she tells me again, It's all right to cry, Dad.

The devil you know is better than the devil you don't.

I was a great believer in hot buttered toast at all hours of the day.

I was always a great believer in buttered toast.

and I'll be happy here and happy there, full of tea and tears

When they reached home, Frank and Joe found that Aunt Gertrude had retired early. "Guess we'll have to rustle up our own snack," Frank said. He heated cups of cocoa while Joe made man-sized ham sandwiches.

Mulled ale for the frozen man, And mulled ale for the weary: For mulled ale is the body's friend And makes the sick heart merry.

Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.

I didn't want any new clothes at all; because if I had to look ugly anyway, I wanted to at least be comfortable. I let the awful clothes affect even my posture, walked around with my back bowed, my shoulders drooping, my hands and arms all over the place. I was afraid of mirrors, because they showed an inescapable ugliness.

But what if all the tranquility, all the comfort, all the contentment were now to come to a horrifying end?

In a way, I was safe writing

I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can't find the right words. All I can say is: Stay with me, don't leave me.

Wrap your coat, O sublime dream, around the child.

But sleep? On a night like this? What an idea! Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while on lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.