I found I could listen without envy to Letty's singing, and afterwards when the applause came, I did not mind that Mrs Knowles was heaping praises upon her. Peter's hands were on my chair, and when I leaned back I could feel them against my shoulders.
Jennifer PaynterTag: love jane-austen comfort pride-and-prejudice loyalty support peter-bushell mary-bennet jennifer-paynter
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.
Tag: love marriage comfort engagement convenience arguing althea keeping-the-castle althea-crawley hugh hugh-fredericks quarreling
Happiness does not completely depend on comforts or opulence. Even a pauper can be happier than a prince.
Ogwo David EmenikeTag: motivational inspirational happiness happy comfort prince prosperity pauper opulence
The prefect evening...lying down on the couch beside the bookcase and reading himself sleepy...Jim lying opposite him at the other end of the couch, also reading; the two of them absorbed in their books yet so completely aware of each other's presence.
Christopher Isherwood... one may live in a big house and yet have no comfort.
Agatha ChristieTag: comfort
A disciple does not ask, "How much can I keep?" but, "How much more can I give?" Whenever we start to get comfortable with our level of giving, it's time to raise it again.
Randy AlcornTag: christianity faith trust stewardship giving comfort give obedience discipline share disciple keep
"At Christmas, tea is compulsory. Relatives are optional.
Tag: family christmas tea holidays comfort coziness
I close my eyes. I don't expect Four to reassure me, and he makes no effort to, but I feel better standing here than I did out there among the people who are my friends, my faction.
Veronica RothDeath loves death, not life. Dying people love to know that others die with them; it is a comfort to learn you are not alone in the kiln, in the grave.
Ray BradburyReading Aloud to My Father
I chose the book haphazard
from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first
sentence I knew it wasn't the thing
to read to a dying man:
The cradle rocks above an abyss, it began,
and common sense tells us that our existence
is but a brief crack of light
between two eternities of darkness.
The words disturbed both of us immediately,
and I stopped. With music it was the same --
Chopin's Piano Concerto — he asked me
to turn it off. He ceased eating, and drank
little, while the tumors briskly appropriated
what was left of him.
But to return to the cradle rocking. I think
Nabokov had it wrong. This is the abyss.
That's why babies howl at birth,
and why the dying so often reach
for something only they can apprehend.
At the end they don't want their hands
to be under the covers, and if you should put
your hand on theirs in a tentative gesture
of solidarity, they'll pull the hand free;
and you must honor that desire,
and let them pull it free.
Tag: grief dying comfort daughters fathers
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