Quotes About Comfort

were clearly outlined under the snug

That was really good driving, Maddy told her. Yeah, thanks. Here, baby. Here. Pilar turned her, held her when the shakes came. And, holding her, reached out for Maddy. Here, baby, she said again. Maddy pressed herself into that circle of comfort and let the tears come.

Don't say anything. Just let me look at you. He cupped her face, skimmed his hands back into her hair. Her skin was chilled, her eyes huge and full of worry. But she was here, she was whole. Just let me look. I'm fine. He drew her close, seemed to fold himself around her and rock. Sophia?

They sat around the kitchen table, eating the sandwiches and drinking glass after glass of cold milk.

If for no other reason, God sometimes allows us to suffer pain so that we can comfort others suffering in a like situation.

I flopped back onto my pillows. I wanted to begin loathing the new day in comfort.

What is going to happen in the course of my day that will be an improvement over lying on something very soft, underneath something very warm, wearing only underwear, doing absolutely nothing, all by myself?

Whenever I can't sleep, I like to lie in the darkness and pretend I've been assassinated. I've found this is the best way to get comfortable. I imagine I'm in the coffin at my funeral, and people from my past are walking by my corpse and making comments about my demise.

I admire addicts. In a world where everybody is waiting for some blind, random disaster or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He's taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of his death from being a total surprise.

This is the biggest mistake I could think would save me. I wanted to give up the idea that I had any control. Shake things up. To be saved by chaos. To see if I could cope, I wanted to force myself to grow again. To explode my comfort zone.

Life's greatest comfort is being able to look over your shoulder and see people worse off, waiting in line behind you.

I suppose it's comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse things to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.

Not that I'm crazy or anything, I just want some proof that death isn't the end. Even if crazed zombies grabbed me in some dark hall one night, even if they tore me apart, at least that wouldn't be the absolute end. There would be some comfort in that.

Just some­thing to need you home at night. Some­thing to keep you from liv­ing alone.

I suppose it's a comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse damage to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.

I suppose it's a comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse damage to yourself then the world will ever dare inflict.

Overrun with Goths wearing sandals and soaking lentils at home, the future I wanted is gone. The future I was promised. Everything I expected. The way everything was supposed to turn out. Happiness and peace and love and comfort.

People are all looking for that, a hand to hold. Reassurance. The promise that everything will be all right.

If humor comes from anything, it arises from an immense feeling of relief.

The newspaper warns us about terrorist anthrax bombs and virulent new strains of meningitis, and the only comfort newspapers can offer is a coupon for twenty cents off on underarm deodorant.

We ourselves, will resurrect the memory in order to savor it and carry it forth into the world. We will fling it at one another for laughs. Distort it. We will toss the story into the air at parties and howl over its ripeness. Degraded as it was, we will degrade it further. Make it more swollen. We shall render it impossibly awful, making of it the mythology of ourselves. A comfort. Proof of the trials we've survived.

praising God is just such a safe thing to do. You don't even have to give it any thought.

Ghoulie or ghosty or long-legged beastie, I just want my hand held.

To escape, he'd married a woman who already counted her affections by the pfennig and dealt them out as a miser, as scant wages for those behaviors she wished to cultivate in husband and son. Even in the merriest circumstances, Felix's wife could surrender herself to an unhappy mood. These attributes he recognized, too late, she shared with his mother. Not impossible was the idea that he was acclimatized to finding comfort in such familiar discomfort.