comfort

I know it's beyond what you can bear, child. You must not try to carry this alone.

I work in my pajamas most of the time. No matter what you__e wearing, you can sound businesslike on the phone.

Let us agree that we are marrying so we can go on quarreling in the greatest comfort and convenience. Oh, please, Althea, look at me. Do say yes.

Dear Beloved woman,Time_ so much time has passed since my love wrote his last words for me.And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember writing back and for the first time since I had left home I told my love what kind of darkness surrounded me here. I forgot all the sweet things my father had said to my mother when he was away. I forgot how they got her through all those long and lonely nights.

Adventures, I reflected, are all very fine but a certain amount of civilised comfort forms the true kernel of our desires.

it__ hard giving out love to people who shove it back in your face. That__ not what love__ supposed to be about. No, it__ not perfect and people get hurt, but it__ a give and take. And it should be comfort, not pain.

A woman will feel emotionally secure when you can listen to her stories. Then she will learn to love you.

Hey. Know what happened to me today?"He sits back and crosses his arms, smiles. "No. What happened to you today?""Well, I decided to take the bus to work instead of driving? And I got on and I sat behind this woman who started crying. She was very quiet about it, just every now and then she would reach up and wipe away a tear. She had this kerchief on her head, this ratty old flowered kerchief, but it was clean and it was tied very neatly, you know. And she had her purse on her lap and she was holding on to it like it was hands. At first nobody else seemed to notice she was crying, but then everybody around her did. And it got very quiet. And then finally this man got up from the back of the bus, and he came up and sat next to her and put his arm around her, and he didn't say a word, but just stared straight ahead with his arm around her and she kept crying, but it was better now, you could tell, she kind of had a little smile even though she was still crying. And I don't know if he even knew her! I think everybody was wondering the same thing: Does he even know her? I guess he must have known her; otherwise she probably would have leaped up and started screaming or something, but you never know! You just never know, it might have been someone whose heart went out to her because she was crying. And he decided he would comfort her. And she let him. And I think it was a kind of miracle. A living parable or something.

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.

Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and [Henry] looked as if he was aware of it.

Of all the comforting objects in this world, few things are as reassuring and accepting as books.

When she first moved to Brighton, the flat on the Lawns had felt luxurious and it had seemed as if she was settling down, sleeping in the same bed every night, the darkness uninterrupted by any hint of emergency. It had felt as if all her difficulties were over.

Has every line inside of you been crossed? Is there anything left unviolated? Are you so comfortable with your imprisonment you feel free?

Don't pretend to comfort me, my friend. I might also pretend to not let you down.

The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected; I have always considered the rain to be healing__ blanket__he comfort of a friend. Without at least some rain in any given day, or at least a cloud or two on the horizon, I feel overwhelmed by the information of sunlight and yearn for the vital, muffling gift of falling water.

The man who has many answersis often foundin the theaters of informationwhere he offers, graciously,his deep findings.While the man who has only questions,to comfort himself, makes music.

She was dry. She was lying on something soft. She was wrapped in quilts. There was a star of light drifting above her, and a smell like a herb garden. Taggle was a long warmth stretched out at one side, his chin in her hand, his tail curled over her neck. She thought they might be in heaven.Taggle farted.Plain Kate coughed and sneezed. And then she really was awake.

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.