Quotes About Comfort

Sometimes it's nice to be sick, to give up trying to function, to crawl into bed and be cared for a little.

People are supposed to fear the unknown, but ignorance is bliss when knowledge is so damn frightening.

How long, I wonder, does it take a thing or a place or even a person to feel like home?

By the way, thanks for rescuing me out there.' Hitch just smiled. 'It was nothing kid. Everyone needs rescuing once in a while.

I say 'Mom, how come you don't change into an evening gown for dinner?' She says 'I do, it's called a bath robe. [...]

I'm into mellow dates with really good food.

It was a huge comfort to have a person who'd keep you honest with yourself and who also gave you safe harbour.

Sleep. I'm here to catch you.

I don't have poetry like you do. I only know that I love how my sheets smell after you've been in my bed.

My mum and dad are my parents. I don't even like saying 'biological parents.'" Luca's hands reach up so he can lace his fingers through mine. "Oh, carina ," he says consolingly against my hair. I'm so glad I washed it this morning.

Maybe I'm dead. The thought is not as scary as it probably should be. I'm so calm, so comfortable. The coffin lining is soft beneath me, and it's fairly roomy; I'm touching the side with my right shoulder, but that's okay. I don't feel cramped. Of course, it's pitch-black, but that's strangely comforting. I roll over and realize there's a pillow under my head. How very nice of them to put a pillow in my coffin. Really thoughtful.

You should eat a waffle! You can't be sad if you eat a waffle!

God loves you even on your blackest days, and He will always, always be there to guide you home. All you have to do is look for the light of His love.

It was about pleasant, in a life-sucks-but-at-least-there's-good-music sort of way.

Acas? e unde s?l?sluie?te inima.

SnowAngel: uh huh, whatevs. i LIKE american cheese. zoegirl: so do i SnowAngel: and not just cheese made in america, but actual orange squares of american cheese. it's the only kind for grilled cheese sandwiches.

When I was a girl I loved fevers and flus and the muzzy feeling of a head cold, all these states carrying with them the special accoutrements of illness, the thermometer with its lovely line of red mercury, the coolness of ice chips pressed to a sweaty forehead, and best of all, a distant mother coming to your bedside with tea.

Suddenly it is not she who needs me, but I who need her. Don't ask me to explain, I can't. I can. We are creatures who must give comfort. We ache to give comfort, to heal what hurts. The colic is making me a mother.

Progesterone is not a minimalist hormone. It leans toward excess, toward velvet, toward a thickening of the blood. Under its spell, the womb's endometrial mat goes from a thin brown covering to a thick crimson pile, a wild, expensive carpet, bedding fit for a king. No amount of money could buy a mattress with the thickness, the precision, the pure comfort that progesterone produces; here is where you started your first perfect sleep. Shhh.

Being a mother means knowing the luxuriousness of giving comfort, bringing the slack body up, holding her close; she melts into your form, which is, when all is said and done, still your form.

God tempers the wind, said Maria, to the shorn lamb.

So when the friends we love the best lie in their churchyard bed, we must not cry too bitterly over the happy dead; because, for our dear Saviour's sake, our sins are all forgiven; and Christians only fall asleep to wake again in Heaven.

He guides us into pastures green, He leads to bowers of bliss, Our Father lives, the God unseen, and Christ our Shepherd is.

Zeitungen haben...zugleich etwas Solides und sogar bei der schlimmsten Nachricht etwas Beruhigendes: Die Welt existiert. Du bist gerade aufgewacht, zurückgekommen aus dem dunklen Reich des Schlafes, mach dir keine Sorgen, hier bin ich, schon frisch gebacken, ich rieche noch nach Druckerschwärze.