Quotes About Healing

yourself, from whom you need forgiveness. Once you have completed the letter, you are encouraged to transform it by burning it, burying in, tearing it into pieces, flushing it, or deleting it from your computer. With any of these actions, you are not destroying the letter. Instead, you are transforming it and the energy it carries.

But then again, if I can only attract what I expect, what was I to do with all of the hurt, sadness, sorrow, anger, and fear that had built up as a result of what I had seen

Take a few deep breaths. Ask your anger to speak to you. Write down the thoughts. Write about the feelings. When you are finished, forgive yourself for holding on to the anger for so long. Then, ask the Holy Spirit to transform the anger into a passion for life. Today I am devoted to healing unresolved and unexpressed anger!

Although frustrated and angry, I was determined not to give up on forgiveness or myself.

What if forgiving my mother also means forgiving myself?

forgive myself; and ask them for forgiveness. More important, I had to see the best in them, no matter what they chose for themselves.

there comes a point where a person's psycho-social history is of little or no consequence.

As we learn to heal the inner child and reconnect with the innocence and trusting nature of this authentic self, learning to trust others becomes a conscious act in response to experience rather than an unconscious reaction to unhealed wounds.

For us Jesus does not merely place His fingers in the ears and say, "Be opened"; for us He does not merely say "Arise and walk." For us He has done a greater thing–for us He died.

I treated the wound with antibiotic cream and let it close before doing any serious snorkeling—and incidentally, I do very much like the phrase serious snorkeling. If I could somehow figure out a way to incorporate the sentence I'm a serious snorkeler, bitchezz without it seeming like a gratuitous aside, I would. And I guess I just did. It's magic, really.

He showed me that words can do more than tell stories, they can heal, and as long as you live inside the dignity of what you write, no one can take that away that what matters most. Those who hate you can kill you, but they cannot destroy you or the ideals that matter to you. To be decent writer you had to give yourself over to the power of words and a love of storytelling. (203)

The best of us grieve over the loss but do not dwell on it. Instead we draw from our inner strength to help us move on from our pain.

Peabody: "When a guy's in the hospital, he wants toys." Eve: "When a guy gets a splinter in his toe, he wants toys.

Time doesn't heal, whatever they say. It's how we use the time that can heal.

He'd walked into her life, and everything had changed. He'd found her; she'd found him—and all those dark places inside both of them had gotten a little smaller, a little brighter.

What you have with her will save her. Just as it saved you.

He'd tended her wounds, as she had his, and knew she healed well, healed fast. His resilient, hardheaded cop. But there were parts inside that tough, disciplined body that remained fragile—perhaps always would. And those vulnerable places pulled at him to protect, to comfort, to do anything he could to spare her a bruise or blow. The vulnerability undid him even as the strength brought him pride. And the whole of her brought him love beyond the measuring of it.

You know better than to blame yourself." "Knowing better doesn't always stop it.

Grief levels us. We go on, we do what's necessary, but there's a shadow on the heart.

The statute of limitations . . . She's put it behind her. Or I hope she has." She'd have put it behind her, Eve thought, but it was always behind you. In a corner, in the dark. Squatting there behind you and chuckling in its throat.

Eve. He took both her hands, brought them to his lips. He wanted to gather her up, cover her in something soft, something beautiful. He wanted to hold her until every horrid memory was washed away. What you are is a miracle.

She rubbed away tears, but couldn't stop them. "And he's talking about visitations and miracles, and I'm thinking: But what about before? What about the terror and the pain and the horrible helplessness? What about that? Because I'm not dead, and I can still feel it. Do you have to be dead not to feel it anymore?" Her voice broke. Roarke felt the crack in his own heart.

Do you hope you can expiate the crimes of the past by suffering in the present?

The sun's touch is kind.