Comfort Quotes - Page 6

As uncomfortable as it might be, I refuse to let the comfort of being agreed with suffocate my opinions.

The ultimate source of comfort and peace is within ourselves.

If lies comfort, and truth disturbs - self is being agitated as a result of prideful living.

In my view, there are many different kinds of hugs. There are the ones you give to huggers, people who hug all the time. These, to me, are by far the least special of all hugs. I see the outstretched arms for the third time in as many days-the expectation of an embrace- and I am drawn in by a feeling of good manners rather than sincere closeness. It's like shaking hands. There are also those I hug only once in a great while because I hardly ever see then, but who I don't necessarily feel that close to. Those kinds of hugs are probably the most awkward. I'm expected to hug so I do it, even if I'm not sure I want to. Hugs like these are brief, and I am always left wondering what sort of look the other person had on their face where I couldn't see. And then there are HUGS. Like the hugs my parents give me when I'm having a bad day, any sort of hug from Armon the giant, or a hug like the one with Yipes right now. Yipes and I are not apt to embrace each other unless there's a good reason to do it, but when there is a good reason, it's a hug that feels like it ought to.

I'm happy, Ahren. I'm a princess. I have everything.""I think you're mistaking comfort for joy.

The stratagems by which briefly youameliorated, even seeminglyuntwisted what still twists within you —you loved their taste and lay thereon your sidenursing like a puppy.

Sometimes, things happen that you would always wonder "Why did it happen?" Well sometimes you must remember that God always has a plan for the better and its our choice whether to accept it in two ways. As a bitter person or a better person.

Nothing reminds one of how shitty inequality is more often than the fact that there are companies who make and people who use 1-ply toilet papers.

You have to direct change; if you don't do so, change will direct you. Guess... the direction change will offer you is not a comfortable one. But the direction you can offer change will be the most comfortable. Go, make a change now!

Some people love their story that much even if it's of their own misery, even if it ties them to unhappiness, or they don't know how to stop telling it. Maybe it's about loving coherence more than comfort, but it might also be about fear—you have to die a little to be reborn, and death comes first, the death of a story, a familiar version of yourself

Comfort blindfolds; difficulty brings realization.Pain reveals; disappointments plant trigger of actions.Fear controls; ignorance deceives.Anger torments; silence keeps.Misunderstanding divides; love joins.Laughter starts; deception suspects.Frowning cautions; sorrow remembers.Purposefulness moves; idleness wastes.When you live in comfort, ponder.When you live in pain, take lessons.When life goes up, plant your feet and appreciate the height.When life goes down, envision the height and dare to get there with tenacity. Life is how you take and manage things. Be a manager of things or things shall be your manager

So what should we do with our last few days?”“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peete replies.“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.It feels like a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.

I would warn any minority student today against the temptations of self-segregation: take support and comfort from your own group as you can, but don’t hide within it.

If my journey was so easy, I would have missed out on life's invaluable lessons. From misery I learnt to comfort those in tears, from lack I learnt to give to the needy; from uncertainty I learnt to understand others and from my silence I learnt to speak for the voiceless.

So love is rest? The cosy corner? The little nook?Sometimes it ought to be. Sometimes it is.

The river was very real; it held him comfortably and gave him the time at last, the leisure, to consider this month, this year, and a lifetime of years.

Foggy nights bring some comfort.He can get lost in the mistand there is no one to stare or question.

Why do you stay with me?" he whispered. He wished he hadn't said it once the words were out of of his mouth, wished he could pull them back, but Laurie didn't seem fazed at all. In fact, he just smiled a crooked smile and kissed him again. "Because I don't want to dance by myself," he whispered.

How long he stood he did not know, but there was a foolish and yet delicious sense of knowing himself as an animal come from the forest, drawn by the fire. He was a thing of brush and liquid eye, of fur and muzzle and hoof, he was a thing of horn and blood that would smell like autumn if you bled it out on the ground. He stood a long time, listening to the warm crackle of the flames.

I ... am left with the lingering feeling that the places we go in our minds to find comfort have little to do with where our bodies go.

Her arms groped forward to guide her when her tears blocked her vision in darkness. Then she couldn't run any more. She sank to her knees and began to cry in her terror. She wanted Gary.She suddenly felt strong arms around her. She bent her head to bury it in Gary's shoulder, trembling in the darkness.Whimpering like a small animal in a trap, she pushed herself closer to him and said in a choked voice, "I'm so frightened!""I know, my love," the voice said. "I'm so sorry you were hurt."She felt herself being pulled up to him, his grip around her tight. It was a strange feeling in this pitch-black hallway, where not even the light of the moon cast any illumination. The lips she touched were cold and yet they responded to her with an unusual warmth. His hands massaged her back. Something, Melanie thought, was wrong with that. The hands were too smooth, not like a plastered wrist would feel."Gary?" she asked, backing away. She didn't trust what she couldn't see."My love," the voice whispered, "there is no need to fear now. I shall protect you from those who mean you harm.

Letting go of who you're supposed to be and discovering who you really are is a journey of many experiences, but certainty is not one of them. No matter how long you wait, it'll never feel safe enough. Plunge in anyway.

Love comforts, it is gentle, it is warm and you can feel it within your entire being.

My mouth hung slightly open, i was getting ready to sat something important. what i wanted to say was: I's so, so sorry. but instead I said, "i love you." Only then, when i said it out loud, did i know that it was true.Carly threaded her fingers through mine and i squeezed her hand. She said it back to me, and i was relieved in a way that i wasn't expecting. i didn't know that i needed her to say it until she did. i was so grateful; i leaned down and kissed her fearlessly, which was unlike me. When she kissed me back, i brought my hand up and cupped the nape of her neck, pulling her hair with clumsy fingers. i tried to back off, to apologize for hurting her, but she kept me close, kissing me softly at first, then hard and fast until the lines between us blurred.

You can't reign in obscurity you can't shine in your comfort zone.

A tiger only needs three things to be comfortable. Lots of food, sleep, and…actually, no it’s just those two things.

I continue to stare, my eyes missing nothing, remembering the moments we just shared together. But in all that time she does not look back, and I am haunted by the visions of her struggling with unseen enemies. I sit by the bedside with an aching back and start to cry as I pick up the notebook. Allie does not notice. I understand, for her mind is gone. A couple pages fall to the floor, and I bend over to pick them up. I am tired now, so I sit, alone and apart from my wife. And when the nurses come in they see two people they must comfort. A woman shaking in fear from demons in her mind, and the old man who loves her more deeply than life itself, crying softly in the corner, his face in his hands.

But there is greater comfort in the substance of silence than in the answer to a question.

For so long, maybe all my life, I thought only a house could make you whole. I thought I was nothing without an interesting address. I thought I was only as good as my color scheme, my drawer pulls, my floors....it's the knowledge that a house can be as fragile as life itself. You'd think it would be stronger, since it can stand in one spot for centuries while generations of humans run through tis rooms, grow up, move out, and eventually die. But a house is an inherently limited entity. It can't do everything, or even most things. I t cannot give you a personality. It cannot bring you love. It cannot cure loneliness. It can provide comfort, safety, a sense of pride--that much I know.

Blindness is a choice born of fear, nursed by complacency and groomed by comfort. And what I often don’t see in my blindness is that 'choice' evidences the existence of other options.

Home does not have to be a place, but a feeling. Once one figures out how to find this feeling in multiple places they will always feel at home with them self.

People rarely ventured outside the realm of their own hurts. They believed their own suffering was obvious to all, but might as well have been wearing blinders for all that they noticed anyone else's.

Let go with me. Let me comfort you with my body...there's no shame in forgetting for a night even if you know you'll remember in the morning.

This sense of my own weakness and emptiness comforts me. I feel myself a mere speck of dust lost in space, yet I am part of that endless grandeur which envelopes me. I could never see why that should be cause for despair, since there could very well be nothing at all behind the black curtain.

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?

When I wear her clothes, I just feel safer, like she's whispering in my ear.

Take solace in that, regardless of the fact that the love you had in your mind was lost, it was fairer than any, and you can take that with you forever.

When you’re kind to people, and you pay attention, you make a field of comfort around them, and you get it back—the Golden Rule meets the Law of Karma meets Murphy’s Law.

The European talks of progress because by the aid of a few scientific discoveries he has established a society which has mistaken comfort for civilisation.

Severing our young and fragile friendship was a sad ordeal, but sadder still was the fact that this friend found it so difficult to respond to my immediate need, unlike a dreamed boy who always afforded me easy comfort. I couldn’t understand what was so hard about reaching out to hug someone. But judging by Gregory’s uncomfortable conduct I had to assume it was an honest trial.

I close my eyes and press my face into his shirt and howl against him, liquid agony pouring from me. He smooths my hair from my face and continues to murmur, but he never shushes me, never tells me to stop. Never tells me it'll be all right. He knows life too well to believe such lies.

Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children: in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair and put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity.

She understood about the comfort you can get from a small separate world, whether it's a theatre or a basketball team or the inside of a book.

Choosing a life of safety is safely choosing something other than life.

Having her favorite breakfast always made her feel cozy, like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her.

She knew every single one of us. Gave us the chance to share in her bed. We all took comfort that she was here and we were not alone. The princess had nothing but love to give.

Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?

Here is a minute. It may be my love is dead, but here is a minute to kneel over the grave and pray by it.

May your life be filled, as mine has been, with love and laughter; and remember, when things are rough all you need is ... Chocolate.

Comfort is not a goal that I seek, rather it is a place that I hide.

The human race is a letdown, Ernest — a bad, bad letdown. And I’m disgusted with it. It thinks it’s progressed, but it hasn’t. It thinks it’s risen above the primeval slime, but it hasn’t. It’s wallowing in it. It’s still clinging to us, clinging to our hair and to our eyes and to our souls. We’ve invented a few things that make noises, but we haven’t invented one big thing that creates quiet. Endless, peaceful quiet. Something to pull over us like a gigantic eiderdown, something to deaden the sound of our emotional yellings and screechings and suffocate our psychological confusions.

He'd read once that in everyone's life there was somebody who touched a spot so deep, so precious, that the mind always retreated, in time of need, to that cherished place, seeking comfort within memories that never seemed to disappoint.

...if it weren't for you, mornings wouldn't be so comforting - slippers wouldn't scrape through the rooms of my heart...

there is both fear and comfort to be drawn from devils--the fear speaks for itself, the comfort comes from being able to absolve oneself of responsibility for one's actions.

Comfort yields complacency. Break free.

In reality, the world is not an arena of comfort but comfort that works! Comfort that makes impact! Yes, comfort that changes lives and leaves a distinctive footprint! Truly, comfort that does not work is only discomfort at work in silence. So many people shall dwell in comfort without working with it only to meet discomfort one day and remember comfort!

If you would really study my pleasure, mother, you must consider your own comfort and convenience a little more than you do.

I had a ritual—and having any ritual sounded so mature that I told everyone about it, even the regulars. On my days off I woke up late and went to the coffee shop and had a cappuccino and read. Then around five p.m., when the light was failing, I would take out a bottle of dry sherry and pour myself a glass, take out a jar of green olives, put on Miles Davis, and read the wine atlas. I didn't know why it felt so luxurious, but one day I realized that ritual was why I had moved to New York—to eat olives and get tipsy and read about Nebbiolo while the sun set. I had created a life that was bent in service to all my personal cravings.

People debate over whether or not there is a literal Hell, in the literal sense often described as fire and eternal torture, which, to many, seems to be too harsh a punishment. If men really want to fear something, they should be fearing separation from God, the supposedly more comforting alternative to a literal Hell. For separation from the authorship of love, mercy, and goodness is the ultimate torture. If you think a literal Hell sounds too bad, you are very much underestimating the pain of being absolutely, wholly separated from the goodness while exposed to the reality of the holiness of God.

What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.