Quotes About Comfort

Your child is hurt. How quickly can you make it better? What if you can't?

How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turned the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, but as long as Em was with him, he was at home?

She was the only one for whom the house didn't have to be cleaned, for whom she didn't have to wear her makeup, and around whom she could say anything without fear of repercussions, or of looking truly stupid.

There's something to be said for being someone's safety zone. Even if, sometimes, it means a kick or a punch or a rush of angry words.

You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Anna lies down, her head pillowed against my shoulder. Every second, another streak of silver glows: parentheses, exclamation points, commas—a whole grammar made of light, for words too hard to speak.

Best place to be? Adrienne asks after a moment. On the other side of this wall. In my bed, at home. Anywhere with Nathaniel. Before, I answer, because I know she'll understand.

There are building blocks of love and the very bottom layer is comfort. (from Vanishing Acts)

Death is scary and confusing and painful, and facing it alone shouldn't be the norm.

When I see him, his frame filling the doorway, I do not feel passion, excitement. I can't remember if I ever have. He makes me feel comfortable, like a favorite pair of shoes.

People have to experience things that terrify them. If they don't, how will they ever come to appreciate safety?

It's an odd luxury, knowing someone's got my back.

His hand fell like a prayer on her temple.

The thing about death, Lacy knew, was that it robbed you of your vocabulary for comfort.

Is there any place on earth that smells better than a Laundromat? It's like a rainy Sunday when you don't have to get out from under your covers, or like lying back on the grass your father's just mowed--comfort food for your nose.

We fall back into silence. I look around XO Café and notice that chatter happens mostly at tables where the diners are young and hip. The older couples, the ones sporting wedding bands that wink with their silverware, eat without the pepper of conversation. Is it because they are so comfortable, they already know what the other is thinking? Or is it because after a certain point, there is simply nothing left to say?

Home is the place where you know where the silverware lives, where the cups hide, where the clean plates go.

I wont let you fall, he said, and because he never did, the world from that vantage point stops being so crazy.

We fall back into silence. I look around XO Cafe and notice that chatter happens mostly at tables where the diners are young and hip. The older couples, the ones sporting wedding bands that wink with their silverware, eat without the pepper of conversation. Is it because they are so comfortable, they already know what the other is thinking? Or is it because after a certain point, there is simply nothing left to say?

It turned out people truly did cry into their coffee cups.

What no one told me about grief is how lonely it is. No matter who else is mourning, you're in your own little cell. Even when people try to comfort you, you're aware that now there is a barrier between you and them, made of the horrible thing that happened, that keeps you isolated.

was starting to see why you carried those stupid facts like other kids dragged around security blankets—if I repeated them over and over, it almost made me feel better.

So maybe there is a place in your life you wear out like a rut, or even better, like the soft spot on the couch. And no matter what else happens to you, you come back to that.

We move through our days with the comfort of familiarity, waking at the same time each morning and almost always the same way...

Most people had no idea there was only a thin veneer between their comfortable lives and the end of civilization as they knew it.