Quotes About Healing

They wouldn't know that grief had come down up on him unbearably, and he must be alone to put his arms around her, and feel her arms around him, to take enough comfort from grieving so that he could return to finish the business of the day.

Having suffered so much, the capacity for suffering had to some extent left him.

Instead of her soul swaying with new life, it seemed to droop, to bleed, as if it were wounded.

When the emotional soul receives a wounding shock, the soul seems to recover as the body recovers. But this is only in appearance. Slowly, slowly the wound to the soul begins to make itself felt, like a bruise, which only slowly deepens its terrible ache, till it fills all the psyche. And when we think we have recovered and forgotten, it is then that the terrible after-effects have to be encountered at their worst.

Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.

The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.

For some things, said his aunt, it was a good thing Paul was ill that Christmas. I believe it saved his mother. Paul

I love thee that I call go into thee, he said. Do you like me? she said, her heart beating. It heals it all up, that I can go into thee.

Before I can face the future, I must first deal with the past.

If I could just write it down in a piece of paper, then maybe she could get a decent night's sleep, eat a little of her dinner. Maybe she could have a minute's worth of peace.

So many bad things have happened to them that they can't trust the good things. They have to shove them away before someone can get it back.

The point is this: that the stream of memory may lead you to the river of understanding. And understanding, in turn, may be a tributary to the river of forgiveness.

Eventually, I reached the other side of the chasm and understood the differences between the two men. I no longer hated Daddy: he had been a shitty father and a shitty husband - a man who's made two bad choices based on lust and coveting and then been too weak either to live with them or undo them. But he had not been a rapist.

You are a steward of the pain and injustices people have visited upon you. Or, if you prefer we could call you a scrupulous coroner.

Jack Speight undid me, then I almost undid myself. But I've undone some of the bad, too, some of the damage. With help. With luck and love.

The point is this: that the stream of memory may lead you to the river of understanding. And understanding, in turn, may be a tributary to the river of forgiveness. Perhaps, Dominick, you have yet to emerge fully from the pond where you swam that morning so long ago. And perhaps, when you do, you will no longer look into the water and see the reflection of a son of a bithc.

Writing about themselves] gives them wings, so that they can rise above the confounding maze of their lives and, from that perspective, begin to see the patterns and dead ends of their pasts, and a way out. That's the funny thing about mazes; what's baffling on the ground begins to make sense when you can begin to rise above it, the better to understand your history and fix yourself.

I do believe that there's life after love, and also that there is love, still, after a life is over.

So maybe that's what love means. Having the capacity to forgive the one who wronged you, no matter how deep the hurt was.

You are a meticulous steward of the pain and injustices people have visited upon you. Or, if you prefer, we could call you a scrupulous coroner.

You are a meticulous steward of the pain and injustices people have visited upon you.

Vicarious traumatization. It can happen to those who bear secondary witness to the traumas of others.

Your museum of pain. Your sanctuary of justifiable indignation.

This is where the pot is strongest now: at the place where it had been broken.